


Stranger Things Prequel Stories

by Shobi1971



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 80's Nostalgia, Angst, Canon Compliant, Characters play D&D, Comic Book References, Explicit Language, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Gratuitous Wizard of Oz references, Humor, POV Multiple, Tolkien References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 178,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18855352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shobi1971/pseuds/Shobi1971
Summary: Canon compliant prequel stories set before Season One.  The focus is squarely on the kids – Mike, Will, Lucas and Dustin.   They have no knowledge of Hawkins Lab, kids with powers, or the Upside Down.  There’s nothing paranormal happening at all.  Just four dorks, growing up in the 80’s in the Midwest.  Full of fluff and angst with the boys and their daily struggles over how to be a good son, a decent brother, and most importantly, a true friend.  This is the story of how Mike, Will, Lucas and Dustin became “The Party” that we know and love.





	1. The Day They Had to Drain the Pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen Wheeler takes Nancy, Barb and Mike to the YMCA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the place I put chapter specific warnings that don't rise to the level of AO3's archive warnings:  
> Chapter One warnings:  
> Mild depiction of a child being injured.

Barbara Holland was splayed out in the back seat of the Wheeler’s station wagon, slumped against her best friend Nancy, trying to keep cool. 

 

In more ways than one. 

 

“Watch this Nance!  Watch this!”

 

All the while Nancy’s little brother, Mike, kept bouncing up behind them from what Nancy called “the way back” to try to scare them or make them laugh or stick his grubby fingers in their hair.

 

“Nance!  Nance!  Lookit!”

 

Barb refused to acknowledge him or turn around to face in Mike’s direction.  Instead, she looked straight ahead at the headrest of the driver’s seat and Mrs. Wheeler’s huge pile of blonde hair gleaming in the summer sun.  She stuck her arm out the open window and let it fly up and down on the breeze, causing more wind to fly into her face.  The gusts of wind penetrating from all sides of the moving car helped keep the oppressive heat at bay. 

 

“Are you watching?  Are you?”

 

Barb was **_not_** watching.  She continued to let her hand float in space outside the window, flowing up and down, seemingly at random.  She remembered when they were younger and Nancy first got a “baby brother”.  He was so cute and tiny, and at first Barb was jealous.  She didn’t have any brothers or sisters.  She had hinted around to her parents about a baby in the months after Mike was born, but she never got a baby brother.  She did get a cat though, which was named Socks.  The cat was mostly grey, but the fur around her feet was milky white, like she was attending a miniature kitty sock hop. 

 

This started the back and forth in Barb’s head – Little Brother vs. Cat.  Like the wrestling cage matches her father sometimes watched.  For a long time, Barb used to think that Nancy got the better end of the deal.  That “Little Brother” won over “Cat”.  Socks wouldn’t tolerate being held and carried around like Mike did.  And Mike did not bite or scratch.  He didn’t even have teeth or nails to speak of. 

 

Then the wind pushed Barb’s hand all the way down to rest against the wood-paneling which ran the length of the station wagon.  Her hand made a surprisingly loud and strangely satisfying thump.

 

At the noise, Mike’s giggling and bouncing from the way back stopped abruptly and his chatter stopped too.  Even Nancy jumped a little in her seat and Mrs. Wheeler turned around to look at all three kids.

 

“Everything okay?” 

 

Barb just nodded, and Nancy smiled and said, “Yes, Mom.”

 

Mike popped up from the “way back” and hung his skinny arms and head over the seat, spilling them down between Barb and Nancy, and intoned, “Okay, okay, oke-ay, o-kay, okaaaaay,” in a little singsong patter.  

 

Barb scrunched her face up into a frown, which caused her too-large glasses to slip down her sweaty nose.  She brought her left hand back in the window and pushed her glasses up absently, and looked over at Nancy.  Nancy’s long hair was curling in the heat, but she smiled indulgently at Mike and patted his closest hand and said “Yep, everything’s A-ok.”

 

Mike recoiled from her touch as if burned and held his affronted hand in his other hand for a moment.  Then he made a disturbingly realistic gagging noise and collapsed in a heap against the floor of the “way back,” out of sight behind the high seat-backs where Barb and Nancy sat.  Nancy rolled her eyes at Barb and softly said, “Bitty-Jerk.”

 

Back when Socks seemed like a raw deal compared to a baby brother, Barb and Nancy had taken to calling Mike “Bitty-Jerk” whenever he did something unpleasant, like cry or pee all over everything.  That was when the cage match began to be called “Socks vs. Bitty-Jerk” in Barb’s mind.  Socks gained on Bitty-Jerk for a while since Socks was potty trained almost instantly, and since the day to day exposure to Bitty-Jerk got grosser as he grew. 

 

But there were fun times too, when Bitty-Jerk would show some signs of life in the battle.  Like when Mike learned to crawl, and they would put a favorite toy out of reach along the carpeted hallway.  Then, as he crawled to it, when he got too close they would grasp the back of his onesie and drag him back away from the toy, and he would laugh and laugh.  It became such a game to him that when they got tired of the game or were distracted he would slow down once near the target and turn back to look at them, waiting for them to grab him and swoop him away again.

 

“Look! Look!”  Mike shouted.  His voice sounded farther away than before. 

 

Just this demand was not enough to make Barb want to look, because ever since Mike was able to toddle along, he was Nancy’s little, chattering, needy shadow.  “Pickmeup!” was not a request or even multiple words, but a command from a tiny dictator that was always around.  So, just the order to “lookit” was not enough to even get Barb’s attention.  Because Mike’s incessant babbling had just become part of the background noise.

 

But the sharp intake of breath and clipped “Michael, stop that!” from Mrs. Wheeler was enough to get Barb’s interest.  So she turned around in her seat and got up on her knees, facing the back of the station wagon, as Nancy did the same. 

 

They saw Mike in the “way back” up close to the wide hatchback door.  The window on the hatchback was down and Mike had his bony legs propped up onto the hatchback and had his bare feet hanging out into the open air swaying about.  Nancy’s face looked questioning as she shook her head.   To Barb it looked like Mike was copying what **_she_** had just been doing, but with his feet instead of his hand.

 

Mike reacted not at all to Mrs. Wheeler’s demand to stop, he merely continued to wiggle his toes in the breeze and giggled and said “I’m waving to the cars with my feet!”

 

Barb and Nancy both laughed then.

 

Mrs. Wheeler did not.  She barked, “Nancy, get your brother!”

 

Nancy didn’t hesitate, she pushed herself up from her kneeling position and vaulted gracefully into the “way back.”  Mike tilted his head back from where he lay so that he was looking both back and up towards Nancy.  When he saw that his antics had some impact, his wide mouth cracked into a smile and he shot his arms out behind him on the ground towards Nancy and wiggled his fingers at her. 

 

“Nancy!  The wind began to switch!”

 

Nancy settled herself into a kneeling position and reached for his spindly arms, which were propellering madly.  Nancy grabbed one arm in each of her hands and sang-said “the house to pitch” as she dragged him along the shag carpet remnant that covered the cargo area.  His feet left the freedom of the open air and Nancy pulled Mike so that his back was resting against her knees and his head was resting against her chest.

 

Even though it was like ninety-five degrees, Mike took this opportunity to snuggle against Nancy as if he was cold.  He looked up at her and said, “You got me.”

 

Barb softened.  Maybe Mike wasn’t **_so_** bad.  Socks didn’t like to sit still or be held.  Bitty-Jerk was always pretty laid back about that type of thing.  For years they could carry Mike around like a stuffed animal and dress him up like a doll.  In some ways he was even better than the Barbie make-up head for practicing doing hair and make-up on, because Mike wasn’t **_just_** a head.

 

Mrs. Wheeler said, “All of you settle down and get back up here,” referring to the long backseat.  “I want to see bottoms on seats!”

 

Barb turned back around from her kneeling position obediently, and sat down again, wondering why “all” of them needed to settle down when it was mostly **_Mike_** that had been acting up.  She did not have much time to wonder before Mike clamored lengthwise over the seat back and plopped into the backseat full length across the seat, his bare feet and legs connecting with Barb’s head and coming to rest in her lap. 

 

“Hey!” she squealed, and wondered if maybe she was too quick to give Mike points over Barbie Head. 

 

Barb thought, _Maybe Mike **would** be better as just a head and hair after all_.

 

Mrs. Wheeler announced, “We’re almost to the ‘Y’!  Are you girls excited about gymnastics?”

 

“Sure,” said Nancy as she climbed more carefully into the back seat, gently shoving and hauling Mike into a sitting position between the two girls.  “But I’m more excited about going swimming.  It’s so hot!”

 

Barb answered, “Yes,” too, well versed in automatically agreeing with adults.  She was glad that this hot car ride to the YMCA was almost over.  And she would be glad when she could spend some time alone with Nancy at tumbling without Mike following along.  He would be in some class of his own with Mrs. Wheeler. 

 

 _For once he can’t tag along_.

 

Barb looked over at Mike who was sticking his tongue out at her, and rummaging in the pockets of his shorts with first one hand and then the other.  He came out with a broken and lint covered shard of a graham cracker, which he stuffed in his mouth and chewed.  Then he pointedly turned towards Barb and crossed his eyes and opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue again giving her a full view of the gooey, partially chewed cracker paste filling his mouth.  Barb gave him a disgusted look, which was apparently the desired reaction, as Mike then sputter-laughed with his mouth still open. 

 

As Barb wiped the cinnamon-tinged brown goo off her face, she decided once and for all. 

 

 _Socks beat Bitty-Jerk any day.  Nancy got the raw end of the deal_.

 

            ---

 

Karen Wheeler looked down at her whining, wriggling son and sighed. 

 

Mike whined again, “But why not?”

 

Karen had just seen Nancy and Barb off to their gymnastics class, and was trying to exit gracefully, dragging Mike along with her.  As usual he wanted to go with his sister.  But it was a class for older kids.  And for girls.  She knew from experience that the mere facts of his age and his boyhood would not really do much to convince him, but she trotted out the easiest answer anyway.

 

“You’re too young for that class,” she said sweetly, never loosening her grip on his hand, never giving him a chance to bolt.  Karen knew from past experience that he could and would. 

 

Bolt. 

 

Last fall she had taken both the kids to a fancy mall a few towns over, one big enough to have escalators and elevators.  In one of the department stores, he had simply pulled away from her and got onto the elevator.  She could still see him, smiling sweetly and waving as the elevator doors closed.  Karen had panicked, of course.  Nancy had just seemed embarrassed. 

 

Karen had touched Nancy’s head and said, “Stay right here.  I’m going to get your brother.  I’ll meet you right back here.” 

 

And never once through the ensuing comedy of errors of Michael riding up and down in the elevator and Karen running up and down the escalators trying to catch him on one floor or another, did she **_ever_** worry about Nancy.  She knew Nancy would do as she was told and stay put.  And she had.  Karen had been terrified that Michael would be abducted, but of course he hadn’t been.  And when she raised her fears to Ted later that night, he had laughed and said, “Even if someone did take him, ten minutes of his chattering, and they would bring him **_right_** back.”

 

“So later I can do ‘nastics?”

 

“We’re going to your class now, Tumbling Tots, remember?”

 

“No, I mean like Nancy.”

 

“Sure, when you’re older.”

 

To this he nodded, apparently satisfied for the moment.  Karen was grateful that he had not fully found a way to demand that “older” and “later” be more strictly defined.  He had always been upset when Nancy went away to school without him, and now he was counting down the days until he would begin school himself.  He was crossing off the days on the little calendar in his room until the end of summer when he would go to Kindergarten and be in the same school as Nancy. 

 

They arrived at the mini-gym that was for the youngest kids, and she bent down and tucked his stained t-shirt into his shorts and smoothed his hair as he tried to wiggle away.  She put her hands on both sides of his head to try and calm him and get him to look at her.  He stopped his fidgeting and looked at her impatiently, all mouth and nose and eyes.  She said, “I’ll be right here with the other Moms.  Have fun. And mind Miss Sally.”

 

He smiled a big smile and said, “I will Mommy.”

 

And then he was gone, running over to the other kids, and Karen sat on the bench along the wall where many of the parents perched.  Karen was still smiling reflexively in response to Michael’s smile as she settled down to watch him tumble around with the other kids.  He was so expressive and demonstrative at all times, which was wonderful when he was happy or smiling.  However, the corners of his mouth were just as likely to turn down, and his dissatisfaction with life could be legendary even when he couldn’t verbalize it.  Wailing tantrums were his earliest form of expressing his displeasure with the universe and his place in it.

 

The absolute worst meltdown had been when Karen took him to Sears Portrait Studio to get a professional portrait when he was still two.  He had screamed and cried and wailed so much that the male photographer had asked her to leave and said, “He’s scaring the other children **_and_** the other Mothers and **_me_** ”.

 

Karen just didn’t understand what was so traumatic about having your picture taken.  Anytime Nancy had seen the camera come out, she would pose and smile without prompting.   Karen did not have a frame of reference for Michael’s tears and had left Sears that day defeated.  When she told Ted about it, he said, “Karen, you’re just letting him **_win_**!  Those pictures don’t cost that much, just tell them to take the picture anyway, and then he’ll know he can’t get his way just by acting up.  If nothing else, we can show it to him when he’s older to prove to him that he had a saint for a Mother.”

 

Karen felt this sounded reasonable, and wondered if it was just different with boys.  Karen had never had to go out of her way to get Nancy to mind or to show Nancy she couldn’t “win”.  Nancy rarely had any tantrums or meltdowns at all, but maybe boys were different. 

 

So she dutifully took Michael back to Sears Portrait Studio the very next day, and was relieved when the man who had asked her to leave wasn’t there.  Instead it was a young lady photographer who had no idea of their recent banishment.  Karen had secretly hoped that the tantrum the day before was a freak incident and the picture would go smoothly this time.  No such luck.  Michael kicked right in with the wailing and flailing the moment he was put on the little wooden chair.  So Karen steeled herself for the glares and raised eyebrows she was getting and when the young lady asked how old Michael was and Karen had responded, the young lady hissed through clenched teeth, “Maybe bring him back when he’s three.” 

 

Karen stuck to her guns and stuck to the plan.  “We’re trying to show him that having a tantrum doesn’t get him what he wants, so please just take the picture anyway.”

 

The young lady snapped back, “Ma’am he has to at least be **_in_** the frame!” and gestured to the little raised platform in front of the pale blue backdrop where the little wooden chair sat. 

 

Michael had gone all loose limbed and floppy like pasta and was in the slow, wailing process of sliding out of the wooden chair like a terrible slinky.  Karen knew a lost cause when she saw it, and rushed to grab him.  He was not even that large for his age, but when he went full dead weight in her arms like a 25-pound bag of writhing flour, it was a struggle.  She hauled him up and past the young lady and nodded at her, “You’re right, maybe when he’s three.”

 

She never went back.

 

By the time they got home to Ted and Nancy, they had switched roles entirely.  Michael was quiet and content and Karen was in tears.  She stomped in and glared at Ted and yelled, “Never!  Again!  You want a picture of your son so bad, **_you_** take it.”

 

Ted was startled but didn’t argue.  And later that evening Ted and Karen had discovered their secret weapon in controlling Michael.  The secret weapon was his adulation of his big sister.  Ted had explained to Nancy that they wanted to get a picture of the two kids together and had lifted her up onto the dining room table where she sat with her legs dangling down, smiling and patiently waiting for her co-star.  Karen followed and placed Michael right beside Nancy, and Nancy put her arm around him, and they snapped a great picture.  They were able to snap several. 

 

So no more Sears Portrait Studios.  Just the dining room table or the couch or the front porch step or wherever they could get Nancy to corral her little brother.  They didn’t have to tell him to smile so there was no command for Michael to obey or disobey.  He just smiled when he was around Nancy.  If Nancy seemed to want to please **_everyone_** , Michael at **_least_** wanted to please Nancy.

 

So Nancy was their secret weapon.  Their stealth missile of learning good habits.  They couldn’t convince Michael to do what they wanted, with him it was always “Why?” 

 

But if they convinced Nancy, it would still work since he copied everything she did.  Even some of the simple things, like brushing his teeth and throwing his clothes in the hamper were helped by him wanting to imitate Nancy. 

 

Best of all, Nancy would read to him from her _Little House_ books and eventually he wanted to know how to read too.  Now he was about to start school already knowing how to read, just like Nancy had.  Same excellent result, Michael just had to get there the hard way.

 

When she was pregnant with Michael and found out it was a boy, everyone had told her the same thing.  Her sister, her parents, even Joyce had all said, “Boys are easier.”

 

That sounded great to Karen since Nancy was an angel.  If a boy would be even easier, she did not have to worry at all about having to wrangle two kids under five at once. 

 

But Michael was not easy.  If Michael had been her first child, he would have likely been her **_only_** child.  Nancy spoiled them for any other kids.  Even at a young age, Michael seemed to just do whatever he wanted.  And he stubbornly refused to do things he did not want to do.  It would get him into trouble someday, Karen was sure.

 

Someday **_very_** soon, she presumed, since he was due to start school in the next few weeks.  School was full of arbitrary rules and any rule that Michael didn’t understand held no sway over him.  And he didn’t seem to fear punishment either.  Karen anticipated many trips to the school office to hear about the latest thing he said or did.

 

Despite these fears, Karen was also secretly counting down the days until school began.  With the blissful invention of all-day kindergarten, and Michael finally going to school full time, it would be the first time in nine years that she would have an uninterrupted span of alone time five days a week.  Some days she looked forward to it **_so_** much that she checked Michael’s little calendar and counted up the days herself.  Other days she felt guilty about feeling that way.

 

Today was a mixed bag, but she dreaded the predictable argument that was coming next.  When they all went to go change into their swimsuits, Michael would insist he should go alone into the Men’s changing room.  The last time he had said slowly, as if talking to a dullard, “Because **_I’m_** a **_boy_** ”.

 

She hoped another generic “when you’re older” would suffice.  That and a generous helping of “the sooner we all get changed the sooner we all can swim,” usually did the trick.

 

Miss Sally’s whistle pierced Karen’s reverie and she stood and milled about with the other parents as the kids ran their way.  When Michael got closer he had some color in his cheeks and was slightly out of breath and he shouted out, “Mom, watch this!”

 

So she moved closer and did as he asked.  He flopped onto his hands and knees on the mat and then turned a clumsy somersault.   Karen dutifully sent him a praising look and clapped her hands together.  It was not really any different than the other somersaults he had turned ever since he learned how, in his first day of this very class.  Clumsy and a little lopsided, always threatening to collapse to one side prior to making it through the whole turnover. 

 

Karen smiled and recalled that his best, most graceful somersault had been the most inappropriate one of all. 

 

Every week in church before dismissing the little ones to Sunday School, Pastor Linden would call the youngest kids down to sit with him on the steps of the Transept in front of the Altar and he would give them the children’s sermon.  Nancy felt she was too “grown up” to go down with the little kids, but earlier this year, after his first Tumbling Tots class, Michael did go down for the children’s sermon. 

 

Somehow during the short talk, he managed to get behind Pastor Linden, between the Pastor and the Altar.  There Michael proceeded to turn a perfect somersault behind the back of the pastor but in front of the whole congregation.  Nancy was embarrassed, Karen was mortified, and Ted muttered under his breath, “Well, we’ve got a holy roller in the family, after all.”  Then he and Nancy laughed. 

 

Karen did not laugh that Sunday, but remembering it now, she did laugh.

 

Michael looked up at her expectantly and saw her laughing and smiling broadly.  He smiled in return and popped upright and with his bare feet slapping on the mat, galloped over and hugged her tight and said, “Love you, Mommy.”

 

Maybe everyone lied when they said, “Boys are easier.” 

 

Michael was **_hard_**. 

 

Hard to understand. 

 

 ** _Harder_** to control.

 

But not hard to love.

 

            ---

 

Nancy Wheeler watched in amusement as Mike attempted to copy Barb and some of the older kids and perform a cannonball into the shallow end of the pool.

 

“Cannonball!”

 

He only managed to grip one of his knees after he jumped and was so off-kilter, that the cannonball jump switched more to a half-belly-flop as he splashed noisily into the pool next to Nancy.

 

No one batted an eye any longer at the Wheeler kids’ antics in the pool.  They were both known to be strong, trained swimmers.   Nancy knew what Mike was capable of, and she wasn’t worried when Mike planted almost face first into the water.  She just continued to tread water and shook her head a bit to flick a few wet strands of hair off her face. 

 

Barb, who looked naked without her glasses, squinted at her from deeper in the shallow end and chuckled, “More like belly flop.”

 

Mike surfaced for air with his face scrunched up as he looked from Barb to Nancy and held one hand where a red mark was already showing on the side of his belly.

 

“You okay?”  Nancy asked, paddling towards him.

 

His scrunched up face, which Nancy figured was possibly threatening tears, quickly cleared and he simply said, “A-ok,” and paddled towards the ladder to get out and maybe try again.

 

Before he could get there, Karen waded between Nancy and Mike and snatched him up into her arms, holding him slightly out of the water.  All the adults could easily stand here in the shallow end.  Nancy could stand for a ways too, but the pool sloped all the way to the deep end of the pool where adults and kids could jump or dive off the diving boards placed there at three different heights. 

 

Nancy was deep enough that she could not touch the bottom anymore, so she wrapped her legs together making a point and pulled her arms tight in along her body so she could **_sink_** to the bottom.  Once she touched the bottom, she crouched low and then launched herself upward towards Barb like those jumping fish they saw on _Wild Kingdom_. 

 

Barb screeched, delighted, and brought her hand flat against the water in a slap that sent a splash of water at Nancy’s head in retaliation.  Nancy laughed and sputtered water from her mouth and swam back towards the side, where Mom was twirling Mike in the air and launching him away from her to land in the deeper water.

 

It was not that different from playing fetch with a dog.  The dog keeps bringing the ball back for you to throw again.  Mike was like that too.  Whether you were dragging him back to you by his onesie or flinging him away from you, he was like the dog **_and_** the ball rolled into one.  He kept coming back for more.

 

“Wanna go jump off the diving board again?” Barb asked as she glided up next to Nancy.

 

“Sure, let’s do it.”

 

The two girls swam over to the side where Mike and Karen were.  Mike had his feet on Karen’s knees and was half-crouching half-standing with his arms around her neck as she bobbed up and down, dunking him repeatedly.  He was cackling and sputtering, and Nancy saw her Mom wince when he dug his bony heel into her hip.  As the two girls approached, Karen grabbed him by the butt and stood fully up, lifting him and settling him against her hip.

 

“Okay girls, **_one_** more jump off the diving board, and then we’ll take a break.”

 

“Okay, Mom.”

 

Then they all exited the pool and the girls started down the long length of the pool to the other end where the deep end and the diving boards waited.

 

Mike squirmed out of Karen’s arms and moved to follow the girls, but Karen caught his shoulder with her hand and said, “Not you, Michael, you’re too little for diving.”

 

“No, I’m not!”

 

Nancy slowed just a bit to see if she needed to wait for Mike or just go on without him.

 

“Michael, why are you such a contrarian?”

 

Nancy stopped then and looked back.  She was pretty sure she knew what her mother meant.  Like “Mary Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?” 

 

Nancy agreed that Mike was definitely contrary, but she did **_not_** think **_he_** knew what that word meant.  She looked back at him, and when she saw the puzzled look cross his face, she figured she must be right, that he had no idea what that word was.

 

Still he feebly said, “I’m not,” as if he did understand, not knowing that he was sort of proving Mom’s point.

 

Nancy looked back at him and granted him a smile, “You stay here Mike, so I know where you are and I’ll wave to you before I jump.  Make sure to watch for me so you can wave back, okay?”

 

He did not return her smile, but he nodded, “I will.”

 

As they walked towards the other end of the pool, Barb asked, “Short or Medium?” 

 

Barb meant the height of the diving board.  There was also a third diving board they called the “Tall” one, but they were not allowed to use that one yet.  Nancy and Barb both knew how to dive head first, but they only ever did that from the side of the deep end or the short diving board. 

 

The only thing that she and Barb had ever managed to do on the medium board was jump - it was just too high to dive head first.  It was scary enough just to climb the long ladder and to walk out to the end and jump.  Nancy knew some kids chickened out on the ladder, or some who made it up the ladder fine, but could not brave the jump once they got to the end of the board and looked down at the distant water. 

 

Nancy had a weird feeling in her stomach the first time she climbed the ladder  - excitement or nervousness.   Maybe both.  And once she was out on the board, she was slightly terrified, but jumping seemed like a better option than forcing all the other people to go backwards down the ladder so she could climb back down in defeat.  She was not about to let a stupid diving board get the better of her.  So she just made sure the board wasn’t bouncing too much and made like the _Peter Pan_ movie and sort of walked off the end. 

 

And it was scary, but awesome. 

 

And she immediately wanted to do it again. 

 

Since then she and Barb had jumped off the medium board lots of times.  Today Nancy was planning on trying something new that she had seen other people do and she figured now was the time.  If her Mom said they were going to “take a break” that could often lead to “packing up” and “going home,” without more time in the water at all.  So as she and Barb waited their turn to climb the ladder, Nancy resolved that today she would do it. 

 

Today she would jump off **_backwards_**.

 

            ---

 

Mike Wheeler stood wrapped in an oversized towel and allowed Mom to pat and rub him dry.

 

“Look honey, there goes Barb.”

 

He watched, only mildly interested as Barb walked the length of the diving board and jumped off.  It seemed like it took her a long time to hit the water, but when she did it was with a satisfying splash.

 

Mike broke away from his mom, and held the towel out like a cape and twirled around with his arms out, like Diana did.  He made the little stuttering sound effects from the show, too, but he did not turn into Wonder Woman. 

 

When he stopped spinning, he swayed unsteadily on his feet for a second before finding his balance.  Then he looked up to where it was Nancy’s turn on the diving board.  He watched his sister with her long wet hair and her blue swimsuit and smiled.  She said she would wave to him.

 

And she did.  She waved both her arms over her head at him.  Mike raised his arms to wave back and dropped his towel onto the wet concrete.  He shrieked, “Go Nancy!” at the top of his lungs.

 

Then she did something he didn’t expect.  She turned around on the diving board, so that she wasn’t facing his way anymore. 

 

Mike thought, _Isn’t she going to jump_?  _She’s facing the **wrong** way_. 

 

Then Nancy started to back up towards the end of the diving board, still facing the wrong way.  Mike had already clasped his hands together against his bare chest and started shifting his weight and performing a little involuntary hopping-fear dance even before he heard Mom’s short intake of breath behind him.

 

Karen stepped up behind him and with one hand picked up his towel.  The other hand landed on his shoulder reassuringly, as she wrapped it around him again.

 

“What is she **_doing_**?”

 

Karen answered him simply.  “Jumping backwards.”

 

Mike watched Nancy as she got to the end of the diving board, hesitated for just a moment and then jumped.  Mike stared at her as she fell, but in his eyes she wasn’t really **_falling_** , she was **_flying_**.

 

_She’s amazing._

 

Mike was so in awe of Nancy at that moment, he didn’t even speak.  He just watched her as she swam to catch up to Barb so they could both make their way back towards him.

 

Mike loved Nancy best.  Nancy was magic.  She could pull things out of your ear you didn’t even know were there.  She could steal your nose and put it back and it didn’t even hurt.  She made learning his numbers and his days and his colors so much fun.  She would let him play her _Wizard of Oz_ read-along record, and she knew all the words to the songs from the movie, and she would sing them to him if he asked nicely.  They perched on her bed for hours and played with the Light Brite and she would call out the colors she needed like a Doctor and Mike would be her helper and hand them over. 

 

And when Nancy would read _Farmer Boy_ to him, sometimes he didn’t even listen. He didn’t really understand what an “ice house” was for anyway.  Sometimes he just stared at her, watching her lips move, and she never stumbled or had to sound out the words, she just **_knew_**. 

 

 _Like Magic_.

 

Once, while reading about training oxen, Nancy caught him staring and gave him a questioning look, “What?  You’re staring.”

 

“If you stare at me, I’ll love you.”  Mike didn’t know, even then, **_why_** he said it, but he had **_meant_** it.

 

She did stare at him briefly before reaching over to tickle him lightly.  Even that was magic tickling, never the “it hurts” or “pee yourself” kind of tickling - just a nice amount.

 

Once Nancy had made it over to the side of the pool he was on, Mike had already run up to the side to greet her and hand over his towel for her to use.  Nancy took it, thanked him and wiped her face and hair while Mike danced around her talking non-stop.  “That was amazing,” and “How did you learn to do that?” and on and on.

 

Mom motioned the kids over and told Barb and Nancy that they both did great.  Then Mom said, “Let’s take a bathroom break  - do you kids need to use the washroom?”

 

Mom stared pointedly at Mike.  Mike didn’t even register how his hand went automatically to his crotch, as he continued to bounce around.  He said, “No.”

 

“Why don’t you just come with me and try?” 

 

Mike was sick of his Mom always treating him like he was a baby.  He said, “No.  I wanna go on the diving board!”

 

“You’re too little, Michael.”

 

Always too little.  Always too young.  Mike pursed his lips into a flat line of stubbornness.  “But Mom . . .” he said, wrinkling his nose up and dragging the word out into two syllables.

 

“No means no, Michael, now come on, I really need to use the washroom.”

 

Mike stopped his bouncing, knowing that two planted feet showed he did not want to be picked up. “I don’t wanna go with **_you,_** ” he said flatly.  Mike stared dead-eyed right up at his Mom, while he waited to be snatched up against his will or for further scolding. 

 

But before it could come, Nancy interrupted, “I’ll watch him, Mom.”

 

Mike looked up to Nancy then over to his Mom.  Mom looked doubtful, but checked her watch and relented, “Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  To Barb she said, “You’ll be okay, honey?”

 

“Yes Ma’am.”

 

And then Mom was gone.  Barb and Nancy and Mike retreated to the low benches that surrounded the pool on one side, and milled about, drying off.

 

Mike asked Nancy, “What’s a cop-tarian?”

 

She laughed.  “Contrarian,” she automatically corrected him.  “I think it’s a fancy word for someone who doesn’t do what they’re told.  Like you.”  As she said it, Nancy “booped” him on the nose with her finger for emphasis.  Mike hated that.  He was about to respond, but was interrupted.

 

Barb said, “Isn’t that Jimmy from school over there?”

 

Nancy’s attention was immediately drawn back to her friend, “Where?”

 

“Over there,” said Barb, pointing, “I think he’s waving at you.”

 

“He’s probably waving at **_both_** of us, we **_all_** have class together.”

 

“I don’t think so . . .”

 

Mike was instantly bored and stopped listening and wandered away from the two girls. 

 

Mike was tired of “no,” and “no means no,” and “when you’re older,” and “when you’re bigger.”  While he thought this he was walking further and further away from Nancy and Barb towards the deep end of the pool. 

 

“When you’re older.” 

 

Mike heard Dad’s voice ringing the familiar excuse in his mind.  He was old **_enough_**.  He threw his towel carelessly down beside an open spot on the bench. 

 

“When you’re bigger.”

 

This time it was Nancy’s voice he heard.  She was older, she was **_always_** going to be bigger than him.  He was big **_enough_**.  He picked up his pace, heart starting to race with excitement, but he played it smart and didn’t go so fast that he looked like he was running.  There were signs posted all over stating that there was “no running” in the pool area.  No use drawing attention to himself too early.  He could call out to Nancy if he needed to.  But only **_just_** before.  It would be for nothing if Nancy didn’t see him do it, but his sister could maybe stop him if Barb or Nancy saw him too soon.

 

“No means no.” 

 

This was his Mom’s voice echoing through his mind.  He was starting school soon, he knew what “no” meant.  But “no” was not a reason.  Not a real one.  Mike got in the short line at the medium diving board. 

 

_I’ll show them._

 

“Why don’t you just come with me and try?” 

 

His Mom’s most recent words rang through his ears again as he reached the top of the tall ladder.  It was only then, when he looked down and saw how high up he really was, that Mike realized she was right and he **_did_** have to pee.  But it was too late now.  That would have to wait. 

 

He walked to the end of the diving board and shouted out across the pool, “Watch this Nance!  Watch this!”

 

Mike waited until she turned to look at him and then waved at her.  Just like she had waved to him.  Then he turned around backwards, just like Nancy, and stood up straight, just like Nancy. 

 

And then he jumped.

 

            ---

 

Nancy had already realized that she lost track of Mike when she heard him yell her name. 

 

“Watch this Nance!  Watch this!”

 

From far away.  From **_too_** far away.

 

She had only been talking to Barb and Jimmy for like a minute.  And Mike knew that they were supposed to stay together.  He knew by this age not to wander off.  But she wasn’t really surprised.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t wandered off before.

 

So Nancy was already scanning the pool-area for her black-haired little brother and wondering how much trouble she would be in if Mom came back before she found him.  She was already to the point of a low-level panic, when she heard the familiar refrain of “Watch this Nance!” from down at the deep end.

 

Nancy and Barb both turned that direction, and their faces comically searched the horizon of the deep end, before instinctively tilting their heads to look up.  And there he was, at the end of the medium diving board, waving to them.

 

Nancy’s mouth dropped open in shock.  She wanted to shout to Mike, but she knew it would do no good.  Instead, she turned to Barb, her smart and capable friend, and snapped, “Find Mom!”

 

The fear in her own voice surprised her, but Barb’s quick reaction did not.  Barb was already sprinting to the Women’s changing area.

 

Nancy had time to wonder why no one had stopped her brother, but in her heart she knew.  Nancy was sure that when she was Mike’s age she had been allowed to jump off the diving board, at least the short one.  She didn’t really understand why her Mom’s rules seemed so inconsistent when it came to the two kids.  But since the rules generally favored Nancy, she never bothered to bring it up.

 

Then Mike turned around on the diving board with his back facing Nancy, and Nancy realized he was going to copy what she had just done and jump backwards.  And in that instant the different rules that Mike lived under became crystal clear to her.  Nancy had always been careful and coordinated and graceful and Mike was a reckless, spastic klutz. 

 

She was just about to break out into a full run towards the deep end of the pool when she realized that it was too late to stop him.

 

 _But maybe it’ll be okay_ , she thought.  _Kids jump off that board **every** day_.

 

She watched as he bounced on the diving board, and that looked okay.  And she thought Mike was looking good as he jumped up, until Nancy understood that he had **_only_** jumped up, not out.

 

Everything that followed happened for Nancy in a blur, with time slowing down and speeding up at irregular intervals, as terror and anger and disbelief coursed through her.

 

Mike jumped up, but not **_out_**.  At least not far **_enough_** out, so when gravity again took hold of him, he clipped his prominent nose on the diving board and fell bleeding and screaming into the deep end of the pool.

 

Nancy did run then, warning signs be damned, in a bee line for where Mike landed with a splash into the pool.  Nancy knew he was not knocked out simply by the virtue of his anguished screams.  When she got to the edge of the pool, she hesitated, waiting for one of the adults already in the pool to **_do something_**.  Instead, possibly because of the spreading cloud of red in the water, or Mike’s high-pitched shrieking, all of the brave adults were rapidly vacating the pool, leaving Mike out in the middle of the deep end.

 

Nancy could not even understand, much less verbalize the **_rage_** she felt in that moment. 

 

 _Adults can be seriously useless, sometimes_. 

 

_But **I’m** not useless.  _

 

She threw her towel to the side and dived in head first.  She got to him quickly, surfaced, and slid her right arm under his armpit and across his chest.  Then she pulled him towards her as she shifted onto her back in the water and pinned him there, his back to her chest, both of them facing up.  He was still flailing and crying and bleeding all over his chin and chest, and his weight threatened to pull them both under for a moment, but her longer, powerful legs were already working. 

 

She pistoned and scissored her legs as best she could, slowly pushing them both to the side of the pool.  Mike’s shrieks had turned to sobs, and he was almost quiet by the time they reached the side of the pool.  She grabbed onto the side of the pool with her free arm and hitched him to her, turning him so he could grab her around the neck with his arms.  Then she felt his legs latch onto her waist and she held him there.  He was shivering as if it was cold, and sputtering and crying and bleeding and his poor nose looked **_busted_**. 

 

Nancy knew there was a hospital nearby and figured that’s where they would spend the rest of the day.

 

Nancy had no free hand to try and soothe or comfort Mike, so she just inclined her head until her cheek and lips were touching the top of his head.  Then she kissed his tangled wet hair, and cooed at him to try and calm him.

 

“You got me!” he said.

 

“I got you.  You’re A-ok.”

 

He clung to her more tightly then, with his arms **_and_** his legs.  Tight enough to hurt.  But it was a good hurt. 

 

Nancy’s chest swelled with relief.  And pride.  And love.

 

Mike pulled his head up again and looked at her.

 

“Nancy, you got me.”

 

Nancy looked back into the adoring eyes of her bloody baby brother, and smiled.

 

“Always.”

 


	2. Soccer, Slurpees, and Sidewalk Chalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyce is frazzled.  
> The boys have a soccer game.  
> Will doesn't understand why Mike doesn't want to come over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the place I put chapter specific warnings that don't rise to the level of AO3's archive warnings:
> 
> Chapter Two warnings:  
> Mild description of really bad parenting, sliding into emotional abuse.  
> Period accurate homophobic language not acceptable in today's world.

Joyce Byers was frazzled.  She drove recklessly through town on her way to the soccer fields.  Will was in a phase where he was concerned about being **_on time_** for things.  She did not really understand where his anxiety for being late came from.  It was certainly not a lesson he had learned from Lonnie. 

 

 _Or from me_ , she admitted to herself. 

 

It must be something he picked up in school, because all year he seemed overly worried about being “tardy”.  As far as Joyce knew there were no “tardy slips” in the Tri-Cities Soccer program, but Will still did not want to be late to his Saturday game.  She glanced over at him in the passenger seat.  His long white socks with the colored stripes were pulled up way too high on his short legs.  The colored team t-shirt was too big on him and looked almost like an orange nightshirt.  He was peering out the window, anxiously marking their progress from Melvald’s General Store to the athletic fields on the other side of town.

 

“We’ll get there in plenty of time, baby,” Joyce reassured him.

 

“I know,” he said, not looking at her.  “But you can’t stay, right?  To see me play?”  He sounded hopeful even though Joyce knew that he already knew the answer to his own question.

 

“No honey, I’ll only be able to stay for a couple minutes.  Then I have to get back to work.”

 

Joyce sighed inwardly.  She was currently “on a break” from work and needed to get back as soon as possible.  Lonnie was the one who signed Will up for Tri-Cities Soccer. 

 

 _And it was a good call_ , she thought.  _It **was**_. 

 

Joyce ticked off the great things about it.  It got Will outdoors and exercising with the other kids.  And it was a program through the park district so it was really inexpensive and didn’t require special shoes or a uniform, and the small entrance fee covered the colored team t-shirt with the sponsor listed on the back.

 

The colored t-shirts were the only way to tell the teams apart.  This year Will’s team was sponsored by the new convenience store in Hawkins, 7-Eleven, and the shirts were orange.  Joyce had talked to Donald at work about sponsoring a team next year, because it really **_was_** a good program.

 

But Joyce had assumed that when Lonnie signed Will up, he would help handle the duties of getting Will to the weekday afternoon practices, and especially to the games, which were always on Saturday or Sunday. 

 

_Fat chance of that._

 

Since Joyce worked many weekends, it meant that there were a lot of times, just like today, when Joyce was running around trying to make things work and trying to enlist someone else to pick up the slack for her and Lonnie. 

 

Lonnie normally didn’t work on the weekends, which is why Joyce always took any available weekend shifts, to avoid extra childcare costs.  But it seemed like each weekend, instead of being able to take Will to the games, something would “come up.”  Some outing, or one of his friends needed help with “something important”, or Lonnie had to unexpectedly work. 

 

 _That’s where he **said** he was today_, she thought.  _Working_.

 

So Joyce had left Jonathan home alone, which she regretted, but Jonathan seemed fine with.  She woke Will up early and brought him to work with her until game time.  She wasn’t really supposed to do this, but Will was so quiet and well behaved most of the time, it had never really caused a problem.  He normally just stayed in the small break room with the punch clock and read comics or colored in his coloring book.

 

“Who’s gonna pick me up?”

 

Joyce bit back another sigh.  “Your Dad says he can’t,” she admitted, “So I’m going to ask Mrs. Wheeler or Mrs. Sinclair if you can go play with Mike or Lucas until I’m off work.”

 

Mike Wheeler and Lucas Sinclair were Will’s two closest friends, and they were both in the soccer program too.  Since the teams were area based, they were also on the same team.  Joyce was counting on seeing Mrs. Wheeler and Mrs. Sinclair there, and hoping that one of the kids was interested in a play date.

 

_To help save me from the logistical nightmare today is turning into._

 

Joyce felt guilty about the situation and knew Will probably felt like she was dumping him on someone else for the day, but it couldn’t be helped.  So she tried to make it sound like a spontaneous chance to hang out with his friends, rather than the practical necessity of no family member being able to pick him up.  She also hedged a bit and made it sound like he had a choice.  “Does that sound okay?”

 

Will turned to look at her and smiled, “Sure.”

 

Joyce steelfully resisted the urge to muss his hair.  Will was so sweet and it was a relief to have one kid that reacted in a more “go with the flow” sort of manner.  Jonathan wasn’t always so friendly or agreeable.  He was like his Dad in that way.

 

Will continued, “But can **_I_** have someone over to our house tomorrow?  I **_never_** get to have the guys over.”

 

This wasn’t strictly true.  Jonathan’s and Will’s friends were always welcome.  But since Joyce currently worked and the other Moms currently did not, Joyce supposed that what **_was_** true was that Will and Mike and Lucas spent less time at the Byers House than they did at the Sinclair and Wheeler houses.  Honestly Joyce was fine with the boys playing at her house even when she and Lonnie weren’t there, but she understood that the other Moms were concerned about their kids playing so far out of the “neighborhood” with no real adult supervision.

 

“Sure,” Joyce said brightly.  She was off work tomorrow, and could even provide door-to-door play-date pick-up and drop-off services. “And if you promise to be good, we can even make Rice Krispie treats.”

 

“Yeah?” 

 

Will was pleased, she could tell.  “Yeah.  But only if you’re good today.  If I hear from the other Moms that you were acting up . . . “

 

Will interrupted, beaming, “I’ll be good.”

 

“Okay.  We’re here.  Have fun  . . .”

 

Will didn’t bother waiting for her to finish the sentence.  He was out the door when the car had barely come to a stop, yelling, “Bye Mom,” over his shoulder.

 

 “. . . and be careful,” Joyce finished lamely.

 

She watched him run over to the field and his team, a cluster of small boys in orange shirts.   Some of them were sitting on the ground, lacing up their shoes. Others were practicing diligently, with some of the better players attempting to control the ball and make passes, or tossing the ball up in the air and trying to then bounce it off their heads or knobby knees.

 

The boy Will ran to first was **_not_** practicing.  He was twirling in a circle while looking straight up in the air.  The only possible purpose for this type of movement was to make himself dizzy. 

 

Joyce chuckled as Will ran up to Mike and said something.  She watched as Mike tried to abruptly stop spinning, lowered his head to look at Will, and immediately lost his balance and collapsed to the ground.  One leg folded under the other as he fell on his rump.  To Joyce he looked like a collapsing stork.

 

Forced dizziness seemed to be popular with Mike and Will.  They would roll down the large hill near the Byers’ property into piles of leaves.  They would stand toe-to-toe and hold hands and lean out from one another, swinging around in circles until one of them inevitably let go, sending them both flailing and laughing. 

 

As mood enhancing and mind altering experiences went, Joyce’s preferred outlets were alcohol and nicotine, but the boys were too young for that, so dizziness and sugar would do in a pinch.

 

The thought of nicotine made Joyce reach for her purse as she pocketed her keys.  But as she exited the car and moved towards the side of the field with the other parents, she thought better of it.  She knew that Karen didn’t approve of smoking and she was about to ask Karen for a favor.

 

_I can use all the help I can get._

 

So she left her cigarettes and her lighter in her purse as she approached Karen and Karen’s eldest, Nancy.  Karen was standing on the side of the field, watching Mike with a slight frown, and Nancy was seated in the grass slightly behind her Mother, with her nose in a book.  Joyce had known Karen for years, ever since they were both in school together.

 

Karen looked over and brightened as Joyce approached, “Hey Joyce, I wasn’t sure I would see you today.  I thought you had to work.”

 

“Hi, Karen.”  She held up her wrist and made a face at her watch.  “Technically I’m on the clock right now, but I’m on a break to drop Will off and maybe catch a few minutes of the game.  I was actually hoping to talk to you about that. . . “

 

Joyce trailed off as they heard a familiar female voice yelling, “Slow down, Mister!”

 

Joyce and Karen turned to see Mrs. Sinclair approaching.  She was holding her youngest, Erica, against one hip and yelling across the field where Lucas was running at full speed towards the team.  Lucas ignored his Mother and kept running right at Mike and Will.  Joyce watched Lucas approach the other two boys at a dead run, and was briefly worried that Lucas would inadvertently hurt Will, since Lucas was so much bigger. 

 

But she needn’t have worried.  Not because Lucas slowed, but because he yelled “Mike!” and slam-tackled Mike.  From behind. 

 

They went down like a ton of bricks, Mike on his palms and knees in the grass and Lucas still grappling him from above and slightly to the side.  Mike, apparently unconcerned with the roughness of this greeting, used his elbow and hip to fling Lucas off of him.  Mike stood, his socks and legs grass stained, and one shin-guard hanging askew.

 

Mike shouted, “Lucas!” and he used both arms to grip one of Lucas’s arms and yanked him violently up in a move that made Joyce wince.  Mike and Lucas seemed almost vicious with each other in Joyce’s eyes.  And she used to worry that they would be that way with Will too, but thankfully they weren’t. 

 

Lucas brushed himself off and said, “Byers!” and moved in on Will.  Will and Lucas engaged in the little back-clapping hug she had seen them do countless times before.  It was always strange to Joyce to watch the boys together.  Will hugged anyone else very fully and deeply, and it was one of her favorite things about him.  But Will had also perfected this special “Hail fellow, well met!” hug with Lucas and they appeared to use it solely with each other. 

 

Joyce had been around Mike enough to know that he was like a little sponge with the other boys.  With Lucas he was violent and rough and with Will he was gentle and quiet.   Neither was his preferred mode, he just reacted to what each of his friends needed.

 

Will was lucky to have such good friends.  Joyce worried sometimes that Jonathan didn’t have a lot of close friends, but she never really worried about Will on that score.  Lucas and Mike were good kids.

 

They greeted Mrs. Sinclair and little Erica, who was about two or three.  Erica wiggled, restless, eager to get out of her Mother’s arms, so Mrs. Sinclair put her down in the grass near Nancy.  Nancy smiled a greeting at Mrs. Sinclair and splayed the paperback she was reading into the grass to keep her place.  She waved at Erica who toddled over towards her.

 

“So, you were saying, Joyce?” Karen prompted.

 

“Right, I really have to get back to work, so I wondered if one of you could watch Will until I’m off work?”

 

Mrs. Sinclair shook her head, “I’m sure Lucas would love to have Will come over, but I’m instituting my plan of enforced family time to try and get him to bond with Erica.  I’m taking them over to that indoor playland with the ball pit and the plastic slides to see if any brotherly instinct will ever kick in.  I’m about ready to give up.”

 

Joyce frowned.  She was all too familiar with that problem, “Lucas still isn’t?”

 

Mrs. Sinclair sighed, “Not really.  It’s not like its pure hatred or jealousy or anything.  It’s just this practiced disdain for Erica.  My husband isn’t really that concerned.  Like that’s a surprise.  But **_I_** am.  I thought when she got a little older and could interact more and **_do_** some things he would come around.”

 

“I’m sure he’ll come around, she’s such a cutie-pie,” said Karen.

 

“Easy for you to say,” Mrs. Sinclair said, nodding towards Nancy and Erica.

 

Nancy had pulled Erica into her lap, and the little girl was happily babbling some toddler-speak at Nancy while gripping Nancy’s hair in one hand and patting Nancy’s shoulder with the other.

 

“You’re right” admitted Karen, “I guess I had it easy on this one.  By the time Michael came along, Nancy was already interested in playing with baby dolls.  Once I convinced her she couldn’t lift or drag Michael around by the leg like she did with her dolls, it was all pretty much smooth sailing.  But maybe girls are better with nurturing.”  She turned to Joyce, “What about Jonathan and Will?”

 

Joyce was desperate to get back to her scheduling issues regarding Will.  She didn’t have time to wade into the more subjective and fraught waters of sibling relationships.  But the look on Mrs. Sinclair’s face broke through her resolve.

 

_Moms have got to stick together._

So she tried to be honest but also reassuring.  “Jonathan was really jealous and resentful of Will too, for the longest time.  But you’re right, once Will got past the useless lump stage of baby-hood and into someone Jonathan could play with, Jonathan did start to treat him better.”

 

“Like a good brother?” Mrs. Sinclair asked.

 

Joyce chuckled softly, remembering what the boys had been like.  “Jonathan is great about that now, but it was not an immediate transition - it was a step by step process.  The next step was not exactly protective big brother.  At first it was like he saw Will as a toy or a pet.  I mean, once he finally stopped ignoring Will, the attention Jonathan paid him was kind and interested attention, but Jonathan lost interest quickly.  But nowadays they get along like friends.”

 

Joyce had another suggestion, but was hesitant to bring it up in front of these two very put together and dedicated mothers.  Joyce was sure it was her imagination, but she often felt in direct competition with other mothers to do the most with and for the kids.  Joyce knew the feeling was born out of her busy schedule and hectic life more than out of a stunning parental insight.

 

“Any advice to help that along?”

 

 _Hell with it_ , Joyce decided, and pressed ahead.

 

“One thing that worked on Jonathan was whenever Will needed help with something or was scared, I would tell Will to go to his brother for help. Instead of helping Will myself.  I would say things like ‘Jonathan is really good at tying his shoes’ and ‘Jonathan is brave, **_he_** can protect you’ in front of Jonathan.  It didn’t always work, but I definitely think praising Jonathan and casting Jonathan in the role of teacher or protector made Jonathan more likely to act that way.” 

 

Joyce shrugged, “And now Jonathan really looks out for Will.  He **_wants_ **to look out for Will.”

 

Karen nodded her approval and Mrs. Sinclair perked up a bit.  “Lucas does have a lot he could teach Erica.  I’m going to try it.  Thank you.”  She flashed Joyce a relieved smile.

 

“No problem.” Joyce was happy to help.  She turned to Karen, “What about Mike?” she asked hopefully, “Do you think he’d mind a play date with Will this afternoon?”

 

Karen smiled, “He’d love one.  I’m happy to have Will over any time.”

 

The referee’s whistle blew, signaling the start of the game.  Joyce was glad she got to see a few minutes of the game. 

 

_It doesn’t make up for Lonnie, but it’s **something**._

 

Will looked over at her and waved wildly, grinning.  Joyce waved back and said under her breath, “Have fun, kiddo.”

 

The team fell into position.  Lucas was playing forward as usual.  He was smaller than a lot of the boys, but he was fast.  Since he wasn’t built to be one of the big power forwards that guards the ball with his size, Lucas focused more on speed, blowing past the other kids to score.  Lucas seemed intense and competitive, even with his own teammates. 

 

Will was in the mid-field today, which meant a lot of back and forth for his short legs.  Will was actually pretty coordinated and could be quick, but he was a little dreamy and unfocused at times.  At that moment he caught his Mom looking at him and shot her another wave, reminding her that she had to leave soon. 

 

Mike was in one of the defender spots in front of the goal.  Mike had a strong instinct to defend against the other team, so Joyce understood what the coach was thinking.  But honestly, Mike looked bored.  He swayed listlessly, barely paying attention to the action further down the field.  As Mike turned in place, Joyce noticed the back of his shirt and remembered something else.

 

She dug in her purse for some bills and held them out to Karen.  “Here, I know the boys are always pushing for Slurpees after the game.  My treat.”

 

Karen started to refuse, “You don’t have to do that.”  But then Karen took the money when Joyce gave her a **_look_**.  Karen continued talking to glaze over any awkwardness regarding the subject of money and said, “Ted says that guy who owns the 7-Eleven only sponsors these teams to keep his store on the kids’ minds.”

 

Joyce laughed, and Mrs. Sinclair nodded.  “I think there’s something to that.  I bet a ton of his weekend business is from pushing Slurpees and Big Gulps on all the kids and their families in these youth sports programs.”

 

Joyce looked at her watch, and swore under her breath.

 

_Maybe I need to take a lesson from Will and worry a little more about being tardy myself._

 

“I’m sorry to cut this short, guys, but I have to get back to work.”  She shot Karen a grateful smile, “Thank you again so much, I promise I won’t be too late.”

 

Karen waved away Joyce’s concern.  “Don’t worry about it, Will is **_never_** any trouble.”

 

Mrs. Sinclair nodded her agreement.  They all watched as Lucas pushed past a larger boy on the other team, knocking him forcefully to the ground in the process.  “At least not compared to our Hellions,” she said.

 

As Joyce hurried toward the car, the ref called a time out as a coach and a Mom both ran onto the field to check on the fallen player.  Joyce chanced one glance back at Will, who looked concerned that the other boy might be hurt.  Mike, on the other hand, hadn’t even noticed the break in the action.  Joyce allowed herself a moment of quiet pride in her son as she yanked open her car door to return to work.

 

            ---

 

Will Byers smiled as he watched Lucas stuff a whole orange slice in his mouth. Erica unintentionally mirrored his actions and stuffed what looked like her whole hand in her mouth.

 

_Impressive on both counts._

 

It was half-time and both teams were huddled on their respective sides of the field, enjoying some orange slices and juice boxes. 

 

Mrs. Wheeler and Mrs. Sinclair had informed the boys of their respective plans for the afternoon.  Lucas was clearly annoyed, and sulked at being left out, but he had managed to negotiate Slurpees with the guys before having to spend the rest of the day stuck with his Mom and Sister.  “Will’s Mom gave you money to treat **_all_** of us,” Lucas reasoned. 

 

Mrs. Sinclair relented and said yes, they could follow the Wheelers to 7-Eleven but then they were going to go their separate ways.  Will knew that her tone meant she was not going to listen to any more complaints from Lucas or Mike that the trio should be able to stay together all afternoon.   Apparently Lucas knew it too, because as soon as he finished his orange slice and chugged his juice box, he gestured that they should head back to the field.  There were too many Moms and Sisters for comfort.

 

Will took this chance to invite them over.  “Hey, do you guys want to come over to my place tomorrow?  Mom said I could invite you.”

 

“You know I can’t,” Lucas said, pouting.  He kicked at the grass.  “After church we’re visiting my Grandma.  More family time,” he complained, looking dejected.

 

This was Mr. Sinclair’s Mother, Will knew.  They visited her two or three times a month.  Will didn’t want Lucas to feel bad, so he put his hand on Lucas’s shoulder and said, “Yeah, but didn’t you say that your Grandma was going to teach you how to play chess the next time you came over?”

 

Lucas brightened, “Yeah.  Dad keeps putting off teaching me, but Grandma says she taught my Dad so she can teach me too.  Then maybe my Dad will let me play with his chess set.”

 

Mike was crouched down on one knee fiddling with his shin guard.

 

Lucas looked down at Mike, amused.  “Why do you wear those anyway?”

 

Mike sighed and rolled his eyes, “My Mom says I’m injury prone.”

 

Will smiled inwardly, as that wasn’t **_exactly_** what Mrs. Wheeler said, but leave it to Mike to change the words of others to his liking.

 

Lucas snorted, “She says you’re a klutz, actually.”

 

Mike hopped up and shrugged.  “You say tomato”.

 

“And you trip over the tomato,” Lucas laughed, and danced away when Mike reached out to slap him on the arm.

 

Will inserted himself between his friends, and looked at Mike, “What about you, do you want to come over tomorrow?”

 

Mike dug a toe into the ground and wiggled his leg.  “I don’t know,” he said shrugging.   “Why don’t you just come over to my house instead?”

 

“That’s where we’re going today,” Will reminded him.  He was confused about Mike’s reaction.  Will knew that it wasn’t because Lucas wasn’t able to play too.  Mike came over to Will’s house alone all the time.  Mike was his first ever friend and they had been playing together before either of them even knew Lucas.

 

Will tried to tempt Mike, “My Mom said we could make Rice Krispies.”

 

Mike looked at him, then away, and said, “We’ll see.”

 

 _We’ll see?_   thought Will.  _That’s something your Mom says when you’re asking for a dog you’re never going to get_.  _It’s just a Mom way of saying “no.”_  

 

Will was puzzled.  Why was Mike using Mom words?  About coming over to play?  Will wanted to call Mike on it, but Mike was saved by the whistle calling them back to the game for the second half.

 

            ---

 

Will lined up with the rest of his team at the end of the game.

 

Each team had to file past the other and each player low-fived each member of the opposing team.  It was a ritual Will didn’t really understand at first, but he performed it dutifully.  When he asked Jonathan about it, Jonathan told him it had to do with making sure there were no “sore losers” and no “hard feelings” after the game, and that made sense to Will.  He smiled at each boy on the opposing team and said “good game” as he slapped hands with them.

 

Will had spent the second half thinking through some hard feelings of his own.  He had a sick feeling in his stomach. 

 

_Why doesn’t Mike want to come over?  Is it because Mike’s house is bigger and newer?  Or because Mike has more toys?_

 

Will didn’t know much about money, but he knew his parents fought about not having enough, and that the Wheelers had more of it.  That much was clear.  Mrs. Wheeler was always offering Will food, no matter what time of day he was at their house, or for how long.  He would just stop in to pick up Mike and only be there for a few minutes, and she would suggest some juice or a healthy snack or some peanuts “for the road”.  And Mike always gave him store bought birthday presents.  Will usually had to make something for Mike, because making stuff didn’t cost much.  But Mike always acted like he thought Will’s homemade gifts were cool. 

 

_Is he just fibbing?_

 

After the line-up, kids were free to find their parents.  Lucas was talking to Coach and helping him collect all the soccer balls in a giant mesh bag.  This gave Will a chance to talk to Mike alone.  Will sidled up to Mike and gave his arm a gentle slug to get his attention.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

Will swallowed hard, “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“How come . . . how come you don’t want to come to my house tomorrow?”

 

Mike shrugged, “I dunno.  I guess I’d rather just hang around my house.”

 

Will was getting frustrated now and found himself getting defensive.  “But why?  It’s not Jonathan is it?  He never really picks on us.”

 

Mike didn’t answer.

 

Will continued stating facts, “He even plays with us sometimes.”

 

Mike nodded, “I know.  Jonathan’s cool.  He’s just so moody sometimes.”  Mike shook his head just thinking about it.  “I hope I’m never like that.”

 

Will wasn’t sure how to reply to that.  Maybe Mike was making a joke.

 

Mike seized the opportunity that Will’s silence provided to try to change the subject.  “Here comes Lucas, maybe we can finally go and forget about soccer.”

 

Lucas heard what Mike was saying as he jogged over.  “Hey, you wanted to join soccer as much as I did, Mike.”

 

Mike threw a hand out as if admitting this was true and said, “It just didn’t turn out to be that fun.”

 

Lucas raised an eyebrow at Mike.  “You just don’t like it ‘cause you suck at it.”

 

Will smiled and looked down.  _That’s kind of true_.

 

Mike pressed his lips into a tight line and shook his head.  “No.  It’s boring.  There’s no **_story_** to it.”

 

Lucas huffed in annoyance, “The **_story_** is about who wins and who loses.”

 

“But that doesn’t even matter.  Or make sense - like you can’t use your hands, but you can use your **_face_**?”

 

“You’re the only one who uses their face, Mike, the rest of us use our heads.”

 

Mike made a little clucking noise in his throat.  “You know what I mean - soccer – it’s just made up.”

 

Will didn’t like it when Lucas and Mike fought, which seemed to be most of the time, but sometimes even he couldn’t keep quiet when one of them spouted nonsense.  Will said, “Mike, **_everything_** is made up.  _Star Wars_ is made up.”

 

“Exactly!” Lucas crowed, making a face at Mike, “Darth Vader isn’t real.”

 

Mike got more frustrated still, not understanding what **_they_** couldn’t understand.  He sighed heavily, “I mean – its just – soccer - it’s not **_about_** something!”

 

Mike looked at them satisfied as if he had made a valid point.  Lucas and Will just stared at him in amusement.

 

Mike continued earnestly, trying to make them see, “At least in _Star Wars_ it’s about finding out who you really **_are_** and protecting people.  This,” he said, throwing his arms out haphazardly as if gesturing to **_all_** of sports, “Is about I don’t **_know_** what.”

 

Lucas shrugged, “Winning?”   Then Lucas looked to Will for help. 

 

Will suggested, “Teamwork?”

 

Then they heard Mrs. Wheeler call to them.  “C’mon you three, you better get a move on if you still want to go to 7-Eleven.”

 

The trio looked at one another and they all had the same thought at the same moment.

 

“Slurpees!” they shouted in perfect agreement.

 

            ---

 

Will fought a brain freeze as he sat between Lucas and Mike on the folded down hatch-back of the Wheeler station wagon.  They were parked outside the 7-Eleven sipping their Slurpees.  Lucas was making a bit of a production of it.  Will thought that Lucas was stalling, trying to avoid having to go spend time with his sister.

 

“So what are you guys planning for the rest of the day?” Lucas asked.  “What am I going to miss?”

 

“Will’s the guest,” said Mike, sounding like Mrs. Wheeler, “Whatever **_he_** wants.”

 

Will shrugged, “Just hang out.  Maybe read some comics,”

 

“Maybe get out the sidewalk chalk,” Mike mused, thinking aloud.

 

Will was getting caught up in the spirit of a whole afternoon ahead of them and the possibility of drawing, which he really enjoyed.  “Maybe Nancy will let us borrow her record player.”

 

Mike nodded thoughtfully, “If we promise to be careful I bet she will.”  Mike seemed to warm to the idea, “If she does, I got this new read along G.I. Joe record. Called _The Secret of the Mummy’s Tomb_.  It’s pretty good.”  Mike smiled at Will.  “Scary.”

 

Will knew what Mike meant.  There was this whole series of picture books that came with a record where the story came to life with different voices and sound effects.  And a high-pitched tone that told you when to turn the page. 

 

Mike really liked that kind of thing.  Mike would really get into the story and try to imitate all the voices.  Even when they were reading a regular paper comic together, laying side by side with the comic between them, Mike would imitate the little high-pitched beep when he was ready to turn the page.   Mike always wanted to turn the page before Will did, because Mike sped through the pages, focused on reading the captions and dialogue, and Will always took more time to look at the art.  Will grinned, because Mike would usually wait and give him a second high-pitched tone before turning the page to give Will time to catch up.

 

Will liked the read-along story records too.  The Wheelers had one of the _Story of the Wizard of Oz_ and even though it was a little different from the movie, Will still loved it.  And the back side of the record had some of the songs from the movie on it, which Will liked even more.

 

Lucas started looking a little down as he listened to Mike and Will’s plans.  He used the spoon end of his Slurpee straw to stab and pick at the cola flavored ice.

 

Will felt bad and said, “We’ll really miss you though.”

 

“Yeah,” Mike agreed quickly, “Sorry you can’t come.”

 

Lucas started to wallow a little then.  “You guys have big plans for tomorrow too?”

 

Will took this opportunity to make a verbal jab at Mike, “I don’t know.  Mike doesn’t seem like he wants to come over.”

 

Mike took in a deep breath, like he was about to impart some wisdom. Then he said, “Okay, um, it’s like this, my Mom is just weird about things and she likes you guys **_so_** much, that she would rather have you guys hang out at our place all the time.  I think she likes you guys more than she likes me sometimes.”

 

Mike smiled at them warmly.  His smile curdled into an angry sneer, when he heard Nancy call from the backseat, “Sometimes?  Try **_all_** the time.”  Mike shot her a brief withering look, but quickly turned back to his friends.

 

Will had to admit that Mrs. Wheeler always seemed happy to see them, but Mike’s explanation still seemed like a fib.  Or what Jonathan called “a white lie.”  The kind of lie you told someone to make them feel better.  Like when Will told his Dad he liked watching baseball on TV.

 

Will didn’t have time to figure out whether to call Mike on this though.

 

Lucas said, “I don’t think it’s because she likes us, you’re just spoiled and she wants you close to home! “

 

Mike opened his wide mouth to object, but Lucas cut him off.  “But that’s not the real reason anyway.  Just tell Will the truth.”

 

Mike had a sour look on his face.  “What truth?”

 

Will’s fears from earlier came back.  The Slurpee felt weird in his stomach.  Will half expected to hear Mike thought his house was better or Mike had better toys, but Will was surprised by what Lucas actually said next.

 

“You’re scared of his Dad,” Lucas said simply.

 

“I am **_not_**.”

 

“You are too!  You said that you heard him yell at Will the other day and got scared.”

 

Will didn’t remember which day they were talking about, but his Dad normally didn’t yell at him in front of his friends or his Mom, so he wasn’t sure he even believed what Lucas was saying.  So Will stirred his Slurpee thoughtfully and wondered if he should ask the question that jumped into his mind, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. 

 

“Is that true?”

 

“I wasn’t **_scared_** ,” protested Mike, “Um, I just,” he stammered into silence and put his arms out, searching for the right words.  Apparently, he utterly failed to find them and lamely ended with, “I just . . . didn’t **_like_** it.” 

 

Will thought about this.  It made some sense to him.  It was always weird to watch your friends get in trouble – and Mike got in trouble a lot, so Will was used to standing there trying to look anywhere but at Mike while Mike got yelled at by some adult.   Will looked to Lucas for some confirmation, and asked, “Are **_you_** scared of my Dad?”

 

“No,” Lucas puffed up a little.  “I’m not scared of much.”

 

Will smiled and teased, “Just Erica barf?”

 

Lucas paled and he shot a glance over at where his Mom and Erica sat.  He whispered as if they might be listening, “It goes all over and she can do it real quick and then pop back up and smile and reach for **_more_** food.”  Lucas shook his head and made a face.  “She’s gross, man!”

 

All three of them laughed.

 

            ---

 

Mike Wheeler held the door open and motioned for Will to follow him into Nancy’s room.

 

Nancy said they could use the record player.  She didn’t like Mike bringing his friends into her room, but Mike wanted Will to help him pick some records.  Mike didn’t know or care as much about music as Will did, so it was better to rely on Will’s expert opinion.

 

Mike went straight for the record player, which had a cover that folded down and a little handle to carry it with.  Mike thought it was more of a toy than a real record player, but Nancy still acted like it was made of gold, so he was careful with it.

 

“I’ll get this, you grab some records,” he said to Will.

 

Mike watched Will browse through Nancy’s meager collection of records and read along books and grab a couple.  Then Will reached to the back of the shelf and picked up _The Story of the Wizard of Oz_ read-along book and record set. 

 

Apparently it got pushed to the back because Nancy didn’t listen to it very much anymore.  But he and Nancy used to listen to it all the time.  Mike knew that Will really liked the music on the B-side, so he asked, “You wanna listen to that one again?”

 

Will lifted his eyebrows in a silent question.

 

“Nancy won’t mind if we borrow it,” Mike reassured him.

 

“We can listen to yours, if you want,” Will offered.  “The G. I. Joe one with the Mummy.”  Will put the _Oz_ book back on Nancy’s shelf. 

 

Mike knew that Will would rather listen to the _Oz_ record.  Or at least the music side of it.  Mike never understood Will’s reluctance to say what he wanted.  Mike normally did whatever he wanted, and when somebody tried to stop him, he didn’t keep quiet about it.  His Mom said it was “annoying”.   His Mom also said that when you have company over you should give them the choice of what to do and not be so “bossy”. 

 

So Mike reached over and picked up the _Oz_ record from the shelf.

 

To Will he said, “We can listen to both. But c’mon, we should go listen down in the basement because Nancy does **_not_** want me bringing my friends into her room.”

 

After they listened to a couple of Nancy’s records, and Mike’s new G.I. Joe story, they listened to _The Story of the Wizard of Oz_.  Then, without asking, Mike flipped the record over and played the B-side with the singing.  It was short, and Will smiled and sang along.  When it was over, Mike wordlessly started it again so they could hear the songs one more time.

 

Once it was over the second time, Mike let the record stop and shut it off.  Even though Mike did feel bad about their discussion earlier, it was more because he felt he wasn’t explaining himself right, than that he was in the wrong.  It was true that Mike wanted to make Will smile and hear Will sing and be a good “host” like his Mom always said.  But part of him really wanted to make Will understand.  So he brought it up again.

 

“Just, can you imagine doing that at your house?”

 

Will looked confused.  He said, “Sure, my Mom wouldn’t care.”  He smiled at Mike then.  “We **_have_** a record player, Mike.”

 

Mike suddenly didn’t want to continue this conversation.  He rolled his eyes and thought that maybe Will was missing the point **_on purpose_**.  To make Mike say things he didn’t really want to say.  He figured he would try one last time, and be more direct. 

 

“What about if your dad was home?” Mike asked softly.

 

“I don’t know, maybe not.”  Will’s voice got tiny, like the smallest cartoon mouse Mike had ever heard.  Will said, “I wouldn’t want to bug him.”

 

With that admission, Mike felt that his trap had been sprung.  Then Mike felt free to lay down the truth as he saw it.  “Well there you go.  For me, I’d rather just do what I **_want_** to do, not what your **_Dad_** wants me to do.  If I want to listen to records or sing or read comics or draw with you, **_that’s_** what I want to do. I don’t want your stupid Dad telling me I should be out hunting animals or playing some stupid sports game or whatever.”

 

“You can’t always do what you want to do, Mike,” Will protested weakly. 

 

Mike softened his tone in response.  “Maybe not, but you can’t blame me for trying.”  Mike shrugged, “I better get this,” he gestured grandly at the record player, “back up to Nancy’s room. You figure out what you want to do next.”

 

Mike grabbed the record player and the records, already starting to feel bad about what he had just done.  All he wanted to do was to get Will to understand his point. 

 

As Mike climbed the stairs out of the basement, he knew that it was really important that Will understood what he was trying to say.  What he **_meant_**. 

 

When Mike eased Nancy’s belongings back into their normal positions in her room, Mike realized his mistake.  That instead of just **_saying_** what he meant **_to_** Will, he had laid the little word minefield trap **_for_** Will instead.   It was something his parents did to him all the time to outsmart him in an argument.  Mike hated that.  And he hated that he had just done the same thing to his best friend.

 

Mike slowly drifted back down the stairs to the landing.  He knew that sometimes he was in such a hurry to be understood that he was too abrupt and too rude in the way he said things.  Mike also knew that Will didn’t just spout off the first things that came into his head.  Will took his time and felt things out. 

 

By the time Mike opened the basement door to return to his friend, he resolved to try to be better about giving Will the time he needed.

 

            ---

 

Will hadn’t really come up with a plan of what to do next.  While Mike was gone Will stewed over what his friend said.  And about how he thought Mike should apologize for saying that his Dad was “stupid.”  Will was pretty sure that Mike would never apologize, though.  Saying “I’m sorry” wasn’t something Mike was known for.

 

Mike was smiling when he came back down to the basement though.  Will didn’t feel like smiling or looking Mike in the eye.  Will still felt weird about not having nice things, even though Mike hadn’t said anything about that.  And he wanted to know what his Dad said.  What Mike heard.  But he didn’t have the courage to ask the question.  Or to hear the answer.  His Mom wouldn’t be here for a long time.  If this turned into a big fight, it would make the rest of their time together awkward.  If Mike got mad enough and told him to leave, Will didn’t have anywhere else to go.

 

Mike waved his hand a little, to get Will’s attention and looked down at him.  Will watched as Mike took in Will’s expression and appeared to make some decision.

 

Mike said, “Look Will, I didn’t mean that about your Dad, we can go to your house more often.  I mean, it’s cool there.”

 

Will studied Mike’s fake grin and decided that Mike wasn’t talking to him like you talk to a friend, but like you talk to a crying baby or an injured pet.  Like Mike’s tone of voice mattered more than his words. 

 

_Like when adults talk down to you._

 

So Will challenged, “Yeah, what’s so cool about it?”

 

Mike put on his “thinking it over” face and was silent for just a second.  Then he said, “Okay, well, there’s the tree swing **_and_** the porch swing – I mean, double swing action, right?”  Mike continued to think and then started speeding up his answer as other things came to him, “And there’s Chester and rolling down that hill into the leaves.” 

 

Mike was fully babbling now and tripping over his own words.  “And my house doesn’t have a cool swing or such a big hill or a dog to play fetch with.”  Mike raised his hand to gesture up the stairs at his house, “I just have Nancy . . . .”   Mike trailed off then, apparently not sure where he was going with this regrettable comparison. 

 

Will relented then and gave Mike a weak smile.  Partly because Mike actually managed to sound sincerely excited and managed to make Will’s house sound fun.  But mostly because Will figured that behind his words, and without actually saying the words “I’m sorry”, Mike was trying, in his own lame way, to apologize. 

 

So Will shook his head as if disappointed and said, “And Nancy won’t play fetch with us.”

 

Mike smiled, and looked relieved at Will’s joke.  “Exactly.  She will rarely fetch a **_thing_**.” 

 

They both laughed then.

 

“Don’t tell her I compared her to Chester, she’ll brain me.”

 

“I won’t tell.”

 

Mike shuffled a bit.  “But those are just things **_at_** your house, and um, I was just trying to say, I don’t know, **_you’re_** there.  It’s dumb I guess, but I have fun playing with **_you_** , no matter what we’re doing.”

 

Will flushed a bit then. 

 

 _He’s not talking down to me anymore._  

 

Will tried to keep it light, “Even stupid sports games?”

 

Mike nodded.  “Yeah.  It’s fun.  With **_you_**.”

 

 _That was nice_ , Will thought, and his chest swelled with pride.  _Now if only Mike would ever know when to **stop** talking_.  But that wasn’t always Mike’s strong suit, and Will could sense a “but” coming. He hoped he was wrong, but Mike shifted his feet again as if shifting a car into a different gear, and the “but” followed as if on cue.

 

Mike narrowed his eyes at Will then, his niceness of just a moment before gone from his face and voice.  It was an abrupt change, but Will had seen this “turn on a dime” shift in Mike before.  Normally he used it when dealing with his parents or other authority figures, but it was not **_new_** to Will.  Will braced himself. 

 

“But don’t pretend you care about soccer.  I saw you space out on the field.  Do you even know what the final score was?”

 

Will thought about this for a moment.  Will searched Mike’s not quite angry face, which was **_daring_** Will to know the score.  Will cycled through his memories from earlier that day.

 

_I remember watching a butterfly fly across the field.  And I remember freaking out when that guy from the other team fell down and hurt his leg.  And I remember looking forward to the orange slices at halftime.  And I was excited when I got the ball that time and passed straight to Lucas.  And then I looked over to see if Mom and Dad saw the play, because I forgot for a second that neither of them was even there._

 

Will remembered a lot of things.  But in all honesty, Mike was right.  He had no idea what the final score was.  None at all.  Will hated it when Mike was right. And Will hated it even more that he would ruin something he had just said which was so kind - which filled up Will’s heart - just to prove that **_he_** was **_right_**.   

 

Then Will realized he was spacing out again, just after Mike had accused him of spacing out during the game.  Will looked over at Mike and he was still waiting, a challenging look in his eye.  That look demanded an answer. 

 

 _What right does **Mike** have to demand an answer_? 

 

The heat rose in Will’s cheeks and he suddenly felt angry.  Mike was spoiled and always wanted his own way.  That’s all **_this_** was.  Mike thought that everything **_he_** had was better than what **_Will_** had - his house, his room, his toys, his clothes, and now his parents.  His **_parents_** for Pete’s sake.  Mike would never dare say a word against Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, because Lucas would bean him one.  Will didn’t want to hit Mike, who was bigger anyway, but Will **_did_** want to **_hurt_** him in that moment. 

 

Normally Will could easily control his meanest impulses, but for reasons he couldn’t really explain, he didn’t want to right now.  Will ignored the question about the stupid game score, and brought the subject back to what really mattered. 

 

Will let his voice go cold and said, “At least my Dad will do stuff with Jonathan and me.  Your Dad just ignores you.”

 

Mike looked stunned at first.  Then he looked down at his feet.  One of his cheap little shin guards had worked its way down his leg and was hanging at a weird angle.  Mike sat down on the couch and kicked off his shoes and then ripped off the shin guards and flung them into a corner.  His socks followed. 

 

“I don’t even know why I’m still wearing that stupid stuff.  I **_hate_** soccer.”

 

Will had seen this all before.  Mike had a way with his anger, it could be fiery and quick, but when he blew up the fire went out just as fast.  But there was another version of Mike’s anger, like the smoldering ashes left when the campfire burns down.  One poke with a stick, or one shifting log could set it off.  And it could smoke like that for a **_long_** time.  And at first, as Will watched Mike, that’s what Will thought this was.  The low-level smoke anger. 

 

But then Mike’s hand wiped at his nose, and he suddenly stood up.  His face was red and he avoided eye contact with Will.  Will kept watch for signs of anger.  But Mike looked more sad than angry.  And Will felt guilty and embarrassed.  Normally if he thought Mike was upset or sad, Will would try to comfort him. 

 

_But how can I do that when I’m the one who upset him in the first place?_

 

Mike said, “I’m gonna go see if Mom will fix us a snack.  Be right back, okay?”

 

Then Mike turned and pounded up the stairs.

 

Will could have called after him, or even volunteered to go with him.  But he didn’t.  Will said nothing and made no move to stop Mike from fleeing his own basement. 

 

When the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut, Will flinched.   

 

            ---

 

Will was sprawled out in the Wheelers driveway putting the finishing touches on the Mummy’s wrapping.  Will had shared a meal-sized snack with Mike, Nancy and Mrs. Wheeler, and now Mike and Will were drawing on the driveway with Mike and Nancy’s chunky sidewalk chalk, while waiting for Will’s Mom to arrive.  Inspired by the G.I. Joe book, Will had drawn G.I. Joe battling the Mummy.  G.I. Joe was pretty easy to draw - he was all uniform and beard and helmet - but Will kept redoing the Mummy, trying to get the unraveling bandages **_just right_**.

 

They had been at this in mostly companionable silence for quite a while.  Eventually Mike had finished his war drawing and it was starting to get dark.   While Will worked on his drawing, Mike told a story about how G.I. Joe began to hunt other monsters after capturing the fake Mummy.  Mike told an awesome tale of how Joe broke into the castle of a terrible Witch, for some secret mission reason that Will didn’t catch.  But before Joe could get out with the plans, or the secret weapon or the gingerbread recipe or whatever, the Witch had caught him.

 

Mike put on the high pitched raspy voice of an old Witch, and pointed to Will with a crooked hand as if Will was G.I. Joe.  “You’ll **_never_** leave this Castle alive, Joe!”  Then Mike cackled with convincingly evil undertones.

 

Will was amused.  He recognized the voice.  “You know you’re just doing my Mom’s witch voice, right?” 

 

Mike nodded, “I know, your Mom’s cool.”  He paused and then continued as if he needed to say more.  “I like doing voices, and that’s a pretty good one.” 

 

Will figured that this was something of a peace offering.  Mike said something nice about his Mom, to make up for what he said before about his Dad.  His Mom would be here soon, and Will wanted to know the truth.

 

“Was it true that you told Lucas you were scared of my Dad?” 

 

“Yeah, I said that.” 

 

“And that’s why you always want to play at your house, instead of mine?” 

 

“Sometimes.” 

 

Will nodded.  Will knew that Mike would never say he was sorry.  Not outright.  But Will **_could_** say it.  Saying “sorry” came easily to Will.   And Will **_was_** sorry for what he said earlier, so it wouldn’t be talking down to Mike to say it.  So he did.

 

“I’m sorry that I said that about your dad.  He doesn’t always ignore you.”

 

Mike shrugged as if he didn’t care and hadn’t even thought about it since Will said it.  Like it was ancient history, and not a few hours ago.  Mike picked up the chalk again and it looked for a second like he was going to continue to work on his rudimentary chalk drawing of a plane bombing a tank.  Then Mike looked over at Will’s detailed drawing of GI Joe fighting off the Mummy.   He looked from one drawing to the other, back and forth like watching a tennis match for a moment, before settling back on his own drawing with a disappointed frown.  Then Mike stood and brushed the chalk dust off his hands onto his shorts and proved that he **_had_** been thinking about what Will said before, at least a little.

 

“Maybe he does.  Ignore me, I mean.  But, um, I think . . . I think I’d **_rather_** be ignored. “

 

Will stood up too and looked at Mike to try to figure out where this was going.  Mike looked directly back at Will again.  And when Will examined Mike’s blinking eyes, it seemed to Will that Mike wasn’t trying to restart the fight.  He wasn’t about to unleash the smoldering anger.  From the look on Mike’s face, Will guessed that Mike would be fine if they just stopped talking about this.  And that maybe Will had just won this argument.

 

That was when Will realized he cared about winning this fight about as much as he cared about winning the soccer game. 

 

Not at all. 

 

But he did want to understand why Mike - his first friend – his **_best_** friend - had said that about Dad. 

 

_And why he said it to Lucas instead of directly to me._

 

So as they stood silently in the darkening gloom in Mike’s driveway, Will found the courage to ask the two questions he needed to ask but dreaded getting the answer to. 

 

“What were we doing that day?”

 

Mike tilted his head, and looked at Will questioningly. 

 

“The day you heard Dad yell at me?  What were we doing?”  

 

Mike shrugged, “We were playing Batman and Robin. “

 

Will thought back to that day. 

 

_I remember that Mike brought that small mask like Robin wears.  And we didn’t have another mask, but Mike let **me** wear the mask, and play Robin.  And Mike pulled up the hood of his blue hooded sweatshirt like a cowl.  And I remember that we ran and asked Jonathan to help us find towels we could use as capes.  And Jonathan tied them around our necks and sent us outside because there’s no “roughhousing” in the house.  And I was Robin and Mike was Batman.  And we ran all over the front porch, jumping off.  And I was **so** much better at it than Mike.  But that made sense because Dick Grayson was a trapeze artist and acrobat.  _

_And then we pretended to walk up the side of a building holding onto the Batrope.  And then we stood back to back and punched out **all** the bad guys, with a “Kapow!” and a “Splatt!” and a “Bam!”  And I got to say **all** the funniest lines like “Holy Fratricide Batman!” and “Holy Mechanical Armies, Batman!”  _

_And when Mike went inside to use the bathroom, Dad came out on the front porch and called me over.  Dad said, “You’re acting like a couple of god-damn fairies.” Then he snatched the towel off me and took off the little mask and let it fall into the dirt.  And it wasn’t even **my** mask, it was **Mike’s** , but I didn’t dare reach for it.  I just stood there making sure I didn’t cry.  And Dad said, “Why don’t you two do something **normal** for a change, like play catch or something?”  And all I could say was, “Yes sir.”  Then Dad went back into the house and slammed the door.  _

_And when Mike came out of the house he wasn’t wearing his “cape” anymore.  I always thought maybe he took it off in the bathroom.  And I told Mike that I was tired of that game and that maybe we should get the ball and play catch or see if Chester wanted to play.  And Mike pushed back his hood and bent to silently pick up the domino mask with the rubbery string.  Then he brushed it off and put it in his sweatshirt pocket.  Then Mike popped back up and said he’d race me.  And we ran around back to the shed to find a ball and see if Chester was tied up back there._

 

Will’s memories of that day spooled in his mind’s eye in a matter of seconds.  Then he looked back at Mike and Mike was just looking at him, waiting for Will to collect his thoughts. 

 

 _Or to find my words_ , Will thought. 

 

Instead, Will found Mike’s words of just a little bit ago ringing through his mind. 

 

 _I think I’d rather be ignored_.  _That’s what he said_. 

 

Will swallowed quickly and then asked the second question on his mind.

 

“What did he yell?”

 

Mike looked at Will and frowned.  He didn’t answer.

 

“What did you hear him say to me?  My Dad?”

 

Mike looked away then, and his face colored and became pinched, like he had a stomachache.  Will knew the feeling.  Then Mike shrugged and said, “He called us sissies or something.  I don’t really remember.”

 

 _But you’re **lying**_ , Will thought.  _You remember.   He called us fairies_ , _he said we weren’t **normal**_. 

 

Then he looked at Mike. Really thinking about what Mike had said. 

 

 _And you would rather be ignored_. 

 

Will said none of this aloud but thought maybe he understood what Mike meant.  Mike wasn’t “scared” but he didn’t “like” it.  He didn’t like what he heard that day, even if he maybe wasn’t supposed to hear it at all.

 

Will almost laughed, thinking that this day had such an impact on Mike. 

 

_It’s not even the worst thing Dad’s ever called me._

 

“Your Mom’s here,” Mike said softly as the headlamps of Mom’s car crossed the Wheeler driveway.

 

“Hey,” Mike said, giving Will his crooked little half smile, “You still want to do something tomorrow?  I could come over.”

 

It was a peace offering.  An olive branch, like the Eagle carried. 

 

Will snatched it. 

 

“Really?”

 

Mike gave him a full smile now.  “Sure.” 

 

Mike closed the distance between them in a few strides, his shadow from the headlights stretching tall behind him towards his garage.  Mike spoke softly, “Y’know, if you **_love_** soccer that’s cool with me.” 

 

Then Mike pushed his arms out in an “I don’t know” gesture and said, “And if you **_don’t_** like soccer but you want to pretend to your Dad that you **_do_** , that’s okay too.” 

 

Then Mike reached out his hand and put it on Will’s shoulder lightly. “But you **_don’t_** have to pretend when you’re with **_me_**.”

 

Will didn’t know what to say. But he knew he wasn’t mad at Mike anymore.  Maybe he had never really been mad at Mike at all.  Then his Mom was honking at him to hurry it up.

 

So he said, “See you tomorrow then, like ten?”

 

Mike nodded his agreement.

 

“Bring your hooded sweatshirt and the mask.”

 

Mike’s eyebrow went up in an unasked question.

 

“But **_I_** get to be Batman this time,” Will said as he opened the passenger side door of their car and slipped in.  He shut the door and looked over to his Mom and ordered, “Turbines to speed.”  She gave him an indulgent smile and put the car in reverse.

 

Mike waved, as he watched the car pull away.  Then he smiled and muttered under his breath, “Holy Role Reversal, Batman,” and turned and pounded up the driveway to his garage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the second chapter. I love comments and questions, so fire away if you're so inclined.
> 
> Next chapter features the first POV sections from Lucas (one of my faves!) and is called:  
> The Saunder's Archery "Wrist-Rocket".


	3. The Saunder's Archery "Wrist-Rocket"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyce and the boys visit Melvald’s General Store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the place I put chapter specific warnings that don't rise to the level of AO3's archive warnings:
> 
> Chapter Three warnings:  
> Mild depiction of a child being injured.
> 
> The explicit language tag starts to be relevant in this chapter.

Lucas Sinclair felt cornered.

 

He was literally cornered in the backseat of Mrs. Byers’ crummy car.  He sat crumpled up, his head against the small window behind the driver’s seat where Mrs. Byers sat.  All the while, Mrs. Byers was busy trying to corner him with her words.

 

Mrs. Byers said, “Just ask Will and Mike and they can tell you how great it is to have a sibling around.”

 

While saying this she took her right hand off the steering wheel and gestured first to the back seat to Will and Mike, and then to the front passenger seat, where Jonathan sat.  Will and Mike were both huddled in the backseat with Lucas, Will directly behind his brother and Mike “riding the hump” in the middle.  It was Mrs. Byers’ turn to pick them up from soccer practice and now they were on their way to Melvald’s General Store where she worked for some errand or another before she took them home.

 

Lucas didn’t want to discuss this subject, especially since he was clearly outnumbered.  But his parents raised him not to talk back to adults, so he muttered a neutral question, “Oh yeah?”

 

Mrs. Byers droned on and her words faded into the background just like the adults on the _Charlie Brown Specials_.  Lucas darted an annoyed glance over at Will, as if holding Will personally responsible for his Mom’s lecture.

 

But Lucas knew it wasn’t really Will’s fault.  It was the fault of the Mom Spy Network.

 

_The boringest and most persistent intelligence network I’ve ever seen_ , he thought.

 

His Dad had told Lucas some about intelligence gathering networks from his time in the service, but it was his Mom that practiced the craft in the here and now.  The Mom Spy Network was on the phone all the time, his Mom, and Mrs. Wheeler and Mrs. Byers.  At every school function and every soccer game they sat huddled together exchanging important coded messages about their newest secret mission. 

 

Their missions were not **_always_** secret.  They were sometimes really obvious.  There was a time when they were all much younger when the Mom Spy Network got together with the goal of curing Mike of scratching his crotch in public.  All the Mothers had taken to the task with enthusiasm, doing everything to curb the behavior short of squirting Mike with a water bottle like a cat whenever he did it.  And the crotch-grabbing stopped.  The Mom Spy Network was victorious.

 

But Lucas had seen quieter, more sly operations work too.  At the same time that Mrs. Wheeler was trying to get Nancy to wear her retainer more religiously, his own Mom had come out with the “offhand” compliment that Nancy’s smile was looking so nice today, and that retainer must really be doing the trick.  The Mom Spy Network wasn’t evil.  They believed in praise as much as punishment.

 

But somewhere in the past month or so his Mom had gotten the Mom Spy Network to turn their attention to Lucas.  He didn’t know when they had gotten together, but Mrs. Wheeler and Mrs. Byers were definitely on board with what Lucas had named “Operation Big Brother”.  And Lucas had been getting prodding, hints, nudges, and outright lectures on how important it was to be a Good! Big! Brother! to his annoying little sister, Erica.

 

Now Will had jumped on the bandwagon and was currently listing all the ways that Jonathan helped and looked out for him.

 

Lucas knew what Will was saying was true, he had seen with his own eyes how Jonathan was with Will.  But it wasn’t convincing to him either.  Lucas knew that his behavior towards Erica was fine.  Lucas was not Mike.  He had accepted a long time ago that his parents could tell him what to **_do_**.  And Lucas did as he was told.  He helped Erica when told.  He picked her up when prompted.  He cleaned up after her all the time, because she was a walking disaster area.  But his parents seemed to want more than just for Lucas to **_do_** as he was told, they wanted him to **_feel_** a certain way about it.  And Lucas was not ready to accept that.  His parents could tell him what do to.  But not how to **_feel_**.

 

When Lucas answered Will, he kept his tone light, but he was definitely pushing back against the entire Byers’ arm of the Mom Spy Network.  He said, “Maybe it’s too late for the type of best buds thing for me and Erica.  Sounds like you,” he gestured across Mike to Will, “just popped out and you and Jonathan were already best friends.”

 

Will looked thoughtful, and Jonathan turned to give Will a look that reinforced Lucas’s point nicely.  But before Lucas could claim a victory lap in the argument, he was shocked when Mrs. Byers laughed.

 

Joyce said, “It really wasn’t like that, Lucas.  Do you guys want to hear a story of how Jonathan reacted when Will was born?”

 

Lucas didn’t really care, but before he could think of a polite way to decline, Mike perked up at the possibility of hearing a story and said, “Sure.”  That was all the encouragement Mrs. Byers needed.

 

“Well, this would be probably about 5 or 6 months after we brought Will home from the hospital, so Jonathan must have been about three or so.  And one day while Will was napping, Jonathan crawled up into my lap and said, so sweetly, ‘Mommy do you remember when I was an only child?’  And I said, ‘of course, baby.’  And then Jonathan looked right at me, not smiling and said, ‘I liked that better.’  And then he climbed off my lap and toddled away.”

 

Lucas smirked.  Mike laughed.  Will looked deflated.

 

Jonathan protested, “I did **_not_**!”

 

Mrs. Byers laughed again, “Yes you did, sweetie.  You were **_so_** serious about it too.  I really think you thought we could take Will back.  You were pretty upset when I explained Will was here to stay.”

 

Will looked truly hurt by this story, and leaned forward in his seat and slapped the back of the seat Jonathan occupied, “Thanks a lot!”

 

Mike was still laughing and said under his breath, “Blue Light Special Baby.”

 

Lucas liked where this was going, they were arguing with each other now.  “Operation Big Brother” was falling apart.  He turned to Mike, “The what now?”

 

“Like Kmart Blue Light Specials,” Mike explained.  “If you buy a Blue Light Special you can’t return it.  Will is our Blue Light Special Baby.”  He shook his head mournfully, “Can’t be returned.”

 

“I am not . . .” Will started, but trailed off and finished with a simple, “Shut up, Mike!”

 

Will then smacked Mike on the chest.  Mike made a move to attempt to dodge, but being trapped between them and riding the hump, he didn’t really have any way to avoid the assault.

 

Mrs. Byers cut back in, “All I’m saying, is that it’s never too late.  Just look at Jonathan and Will now.”

 

Jonathan turned in his seat to give Will a smile, “I would never want to return you now, buddy.”

 

Lucas almost gagged.

 

Then Mike put on this weird adult, pinched voice, and mimed pushing some pretend glasses down on his wide nose to “look” over them at Jonathan, “Sir.  Again.  Even with the dated receipt, Blue Light Special Babies **_cannot_** be returned.  But thank you for shopping at Kmart.”

 

Lucas laughed again, while Jonathan rolled his eyes and Jonathan and Will both said, “Shut up, Mike.”

 

Mike settled down, apparently satisfied that he had milked his little joke as far as he could.  He looked content to lapse back into silence, when Lucas noticed Will give Mike a little elbow to the side, as if prompting him.

 

_Not you too!_ Lucas thought.  Mike normally didn’t allow himself to be recruited by the Mom Spy Network and ignored most wishes of the adults around them.  But here came Mike’s attempt at contributing to “Operation Big Brother.”

 

“I just really think you’re missing out, Lucas.  I’m glad I have Nancy.  Like Will said, it’s like having another best friend, but in your house with you.”

 

Lucas snorted.  Gotta give it to Mike.  “A” for effort.  He sounded sincere, and Lucas wondered if it was his own line or something fed to him by the Mom Spy Network. 

 

It was one thing to push back against poor, sweet Will in front of his whole family, and Lucas would never want to upset or embarrass Will. 

 

_But Mike Wheeler?_

 

That was a different story.  

 

_I can slap down **Mike Wheeler** any time, any day.  It’s almost too easy._

 

Lucas said to Mike, “C’mon.  Admit it.  Nancy torments you all the time!”

 

Mike scowled, “She does not.  I’m her **_favorite_**.”

 

Lucas laughed, “Favorite punching bag maybe.  If she doesn’t torment you, how is it that the whole school saw the picture of you in your Superman Underoos?  She brought it to show and tell, man!”

 

Everyone was laughing to some extent now.  Lucas knew that literally everyone in the car had seen the picture.

 

Mike had the decency to look embarrassed.  He said, “Yeah, I notice she doesn’t ever show the one from the same night when she was standing right next to me posing in her Wonder Woman undies.”

 

Jonathan immediately turned around in his seat, with a wicked smile on his face, “Wait!  What?  Nancy Wheeler in Wonder Woman Underoos?”

 

Mike smiled his “ain’t I a stinker?” smile, knowing that Jonathan was in Nancy’s class at school and maybe the story would get around.  He simply said, “You didn’t hear it from me.  She probably destroyed it anyway.”

 

Lucas had no way of knowing if such a picture ever existed or not.  But the **_story_** of it sure did now. 

 

Mike was crafty that way.  Lucas didn’t think he lied just for fun or out of spite.  To Mike it was more just “telling stories” and seeing which ones had a life of their own.  In this case it was at least believable that Nancy could be convinced to play dress up with Mike, but Lucas just wasn’t sure if what Mike was saying was true.

 

It did give Lucas what he thought was a perfect way to end this conversation, at least for the moment.

 

He said, “Well, you’ve really given me something to think about.  Maybe I will spend more time with Erica.”

 

Mrs. Byers turned into the employee parking area behind Melvald’s and said, “That’s great sweetie.”

 

Lucas then leaned over and whispered to Mike, “Yeah, Nancy had the right idea.  I’m gonna spend more time around her to get some embarrassing pictures of her.”

 

            ---

 

Lucas stared dubiously at the small plastic face of Thor, God of Thunder.

 

He and Mike were in the candy aisle of Melvald’s General Store.  Mike was on his bony knees on one side of the aisle, triumphantly holding up a Thor Pez Dispenser in its plastic blister pack, as if it was Mjolnir itself.  Mike said, “Look, Lucas, the helmet even has the little wings! “

 

Lucas nodded absently.  They were here so Mrs. Byers could get her schedule or her paycheck or something.  And while she did whatever it was she was doing, the four boys were browsing the store shelves.  Jonathan and Will had wandered down a different aisle, while Mike had dragged Lucas into the candy aisle.

 

Mike continued, “I’ve got to get this for my collection.”

 

Lucas wondered why Mike was always copying him, with this sudden need to collect superhero-headed Pez dispensers. 

 

It all started because Lucas’s Dad had a pretty big coin collection, with money from all over the world from when he had been in the Navy.  Lucas really liked looking at it, and his Dad had a special binder to display the coins and bills in.  He let Lucas help him catalogue his collection.  Lucas liked it so much, he started a coin collection of his own.  Lucas was trying to get pennies from every year and from each of the different mints. 

 

Mere days after Lucas had announced this new interest in collecting coins to his friends, Mike had decided that he was going to try to collect all the Pez dispensers with superhero heads on them.  Lucas didn’t even think Mike liked the candy, which were just hard little lumps of chalky tasting sugar.  But Mike did seem to like how the candy came out like “neck-bullets,” as he called them.  There were even Pez dispensers modeled to look like a pistol, taking the deadly bullet-candy idea to the next level.

 

Mike popped up when Lucas didn’t immediately respond and said, “What’s up, Doc?”

 

Lucas raised an eyebrow at Mike, “Just sick of you guys all ganging up on me about Erica.  It’s really none of your business.”

 

Mike shrugged at the truth of that.  “Sorry man.  I agree with you anyway.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Mike nodded solemnly, “Yeah, Erica’s the **_worst_**.  I can see why you can’t stand her.”

 

Lucas frowned and shook his head.  Mike was so see through.  Even when his facial expressions didn’t give him away, he was so easy to read.  Lucas often wondered how Mike managed to fool adults all the time.

 

Mike could bad mouth Nancy up one side and down the other, but got weirdly defensive if anyone else said anything remotely negative about her.  He displayed a sort of “I can say that about my sister, but you can’t” kind of attitude.  And now Mike was busting on Erica in an attempt to get Lucas to do the same.  Lucas was not going to fall for this.

 

He gave Mike his sweetest smile, and reached over to touch him on the arm and said, “Thanks man.  And you’re right.  Erica **_is_** the worst.  It means a lot to me that you can see things from my side.  Next time my Mom is busting my chops about this I’m gonna be sure to tell her how you **_agree_** that Erica is the worst.”

 

Lucas then walked right past Mike, watching as Mike’s face fell into a look of confusion and then concern, as Mike started to understand what Lucas was threatening to do.  Mike scowled and muttered under his breath as Lucas passed him, “I take it back.  **_You’re_** the worst.”

 

Lucas laughed then, “Aww, you love me Mikey, don’t deny it!”  He kept on towards the end of the aisle.

 

When Lucas looked back at Mike, Mike made a little “harrumph” noise under his breath and knelt again before the display of Pez dispensers.

 

Lucas left the candy aisle and made his way towards the center of the store where Melvald’s had a single aisle stocked with toys.  He found Will at the end of the aisle, looking at the endcap display.  All along the endcap’s pegboard backing were metal prongs sticking out holding different types of dolls and action figures in bright packaging.  The bottom of the endcap was encased on the other three sides by thick sheets of glass butted up against one another.  Piled in this makeshift glass box were a bunch of plastic and rubber balls of various sizes and colors.

 

When Lucas got closer, he saw Will had taken a _Star Wars_ action figure off its prong to look at.  Will had flipped the packaging over and was looking at the back picture of all the different figures available.  They all loved _Star Wars_ , so this was no surprise to Lucas.  At Will’s last birthday it was practically all he had asked for, and it felt like almost every present had a _Star Wars_ connection.  It had been a pretty good party.

 

“Hey, which one you got there?” asked Lucas gesturing to the figure.

 

“Greedo,” smiled Will, turning the package over.

 

Lucas looked at it,  _Pretty cool_ , he thought.  Between the three of them, they had all twelve of the figures originally released the same year as the movie, and some duplicates.  But you couldn’t really have **_too many_** Stormtroopers or Jawas, so duplicates were okay.  But they had recently released even more figures, and even though Will got some of them for his birthday, there now were like twenty-one different figures.  Lucas had no idea how they were going to keep up.

 

“Greedo looks awesome, “said Lucas, bobbing his head at the figure, “You gonna get it?”

 

Will shook his head quickly and reached up on his tip-toes to put the figure back.  “No way, I don’t have any money.”

 

“Me either,” Lucas said sourly, “But he would be a cool one to get next.”

 

Will smiled and nodded as if the choice of the next Star Wars figure to add to their shared collection was of utmost importance.  “Someday,” Will said hopefully.  “Where’s Mike?”

 

Lucas hooked his thumb, pointing back towards the front of the store, “Candy aisle.”

 

Will nodded, “Hey, I wanted to talk to you alone anyway.”

 

Lucas was used to this.  Will didn’t always talk as much when they were in a group.  It seemed to Lucas that Will preferred talking one-on-one. 

 

_Or maybe that’s the only time Mike lets Will get a word in._

 

Lucas was pretty sure he knew what this was going to be about.  But with Will he didn’t really feel the need to head it off at the pass.  It took Lucas a while to realize it, but punching at Will, with words or with fists, was **_not_** fun.  Not like with Mike.  It was always fun to jab at Mike, because he would usually punch back.  Mike was Lucas’s favorite sparring partner.  But with Will, he just sat there and **_took it_**.  It was weird.  And not much fun to do.  So a long time ago Lucas had just stopped doing it to Will at all.

 

Instead, Lucas prompted Will, “What’s up?”

 

Will started, tentative at first, “Look, just one more thing and then I’ll drop this, okay?  Because I know that I’m like the Erica in this . . . “

 

Lucas watched as Will trailed off, looking both uncomfortable and a little ashamed to be grasping for a word.

 

“Comparison,” Lucas supplied.

 

“Yeah, that I’m the Erica in this comparison.  And I just wanted to make sure you really thought about how you’re making Erica feel.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Will was still smiling slightly, and Lucas could almost feel this pulse of kindness radiating off of Will.  _This_ , Lucas thought, _Is why all the Moms and Teachers love Will_.  It wasn’t brown-nosing or kissing up, not exactly, but it was something the Mom Spy Network all responded to.

 

Will continued, “I mean, can’t you imagine how you make Erica feel?  I just – I know what it’s like, y’know.  What it feels like, having someone in your house that always treats you like you’re in the way or an unwanted guest, or something.  It can make you feel . . . hated.”

 

This was all getting a little heavy for Lucas.  Will never really lied or spun stories like some other kids Lucas could mention, so Lucas thought that Will was being honest if he said he felt like that in his own house.  But honestly, Lucas could not imagine Jonathan ever making Will feel hated, so where was this feeling coming from? 

 

Most important, **_hate_** was just too strong a word, for this **_deal_** with Erica.  Lucas had heard his dad call it “sibling rivalry” and that was how Lucas thought of it now.  Not **_hate_**. 

 

Lucas knew from his Mom’s stories about the South that there were people that hated her – probably hated Lucas too - just for being black, but he didn’t like to think about that.  He didn’t like to think that Hawkins was like that too.  So he didn’t.  He ignored all that and focused on being the best.  The smartest and the fastest and the strongest Lucas he could be.    

 

_But hate?  I don’t hate Erica.  I don’t hate **anyone**._

 

He said, “I don’t hate Erica, Will.  And no one hates **_you_** either, okay?”

 

Will nodded as if accepting this.  “Okay.  Good.  I just don’t want you to make Erica feel bad, y’know?”

 

“I hear you.”  Lucas looked around, trying to find a way out of the suddenly intense conversation.  “How long is your Mom gonna be, anyway?”

 

“I dunno,” Will shrugged, “Hopefully not too much longer.”

 

“You think I got time to go check out the sporting goods section?”

 

“Sure,” nodded Will, turning his attention back to the _Star Wars_ figures, “I’ll come find you when she comes back.”

 

Lucas fled then, heading directly to the sporting goods section which was on the opposite side of the store from the candy aisle.  He walked down the aisle checking things out, just idly looking since he didn’t really have any money on him.  Then he saw something that he hadn’t seen there before, something that made his eyes light up and stopped him dead in his tracks.  It was on a high shelf.  High enough that he knew it was meant for grown-ups.  A prize tucked between the camping gear and the baseball mitts.  Lucas jumped up to snatch it down off the shelf and examine it closer.

 

The Saunder's Archery "Wrist-Rocket".

 

It was awesome.  It wasn’t like any slingshot he had seen before. 

 

You could make a rudimentary slingshot pretty easily from a properly cut stick with the right fork in it, and Lucas had.  But it was nothing like this.  It gleamed, even in the packaging, the metal shining bright and brand new.  The cool thing was that there wasn’t just a handle and fork, but there was a brace on the back of it.  Lucas looked at the picture and it showed a boy with the brace part extended backwards over his wrist, helping to steady the slingshot.  Lucas figured it was to help get better aim and to help give more force to whatever you were using as ammo. 

 

The band looked different too.  _Thicker maybe_.  Lucas figured he could get good enough aim and distance with this Wrist Rocket to take down a bird in flight if he needed to.  _This thing could take out any foe_.

 

_I have to show this to the guys.  Right now._

 

Holding the Saunder's Archery "Wrist-Rocket" tightly in his hands, he ran back towards the middle of the store to the toy aisle where he’d last seen Will.  He approached the endcap with the action figures and the balls, but Will was no longer at the end of the row.  Around that corner, further to Lucas’s right was the main toy aisle, so he figured he would find Will there.  He approached the action figure endcap and cut across it and to the right to the toy aisle.

 

And there, down near the other end of the toy aisle, he saw Will and Jonathan standing together and looking at the puzzles and games.

 

“Guys!  Guys!  Look what I found!  It’s crazy-cool!”

 

The Byers brothers both turned to look at him, and he stopped in his tracks, holding up the Saunder's Archery "Wrist-Rocket" for them to take in its glory.

 

They continued to look at Lucas, but their reactions were not what Lucas was expecting.

 

Will’s mouth dropped wide open and the color fled his face.  He looked terrified, not excited.

 

Lucas then looked at Jonathan who also looked alarmed, and had taken a step forward.  Jonathan had his hand out pointing down at Lucas, “Your leg.”

 

Lucas looked down to see what they were looking at.  His left leg was bleeding, badly.  He felt the liquid now, pooling into his sock and shoe, staining them both a dark, ugly color.  Then he felt an odd burning sensation, a weird prickling heat in a jagged line going up his left leg.  Just the weird heat at first, before the sensation blossomed into pain.

 

Lucas raised his head again to see Mike enter the aisle behind Will and Jonathan.  Mike stopped in his tracks, staring at Lucas and started to speak, “Holy sh ---“

 

Mike’s words were drowned out, because at that moment a wave of pain and dizziness hit Lucas and Lucas started to scream.

 

            ---

 

Joyce Byers was not having a good day. She had been in round three of the same old argument with Lonnie about where he spent his time and their money, when Jonathan had knocked loudly on the bedroom door and reminded her it was time to pick Will and the other boys up from soccer practice. 

 

So she had been late picking them up, and now she had dragged them to work with her so she could confront another one of the unreasonable men in her life, this time her boss, Donald Melvald.  She was arguing in the little break room with Donald about her schedule, when they heard the screaming coming from the middle of the store.

 

They both stopped speaking and looked to the little door which led from the break room to the store proper.  Joyce was silently hoping that the scream would not repeat itself.  But it had, and this time the wailing sounded even more panicked and shrill.

 

“Crap,” Joyce muttered under her breath as she ran to the door.

 

The source of the commotion was not hard to find.  It wasn’t as if Melvald’s was packed with customers on a weekday afternoon.  She was sure it was one of the little non-customers she had brought with her. 

 

And she was right.  She rounded a corner and saw Mike and Jonathan and Will looking down the toy aisle towards the front of the store at something.  Will was crying but he was not the source of the noise, so that left Lucas.  Joyce reached the cluster of three boys in seconds and rounded the corner.  At the other end of the aisle stood Lucas, crying and wailing and bleeding.  There was a small puddle of his blood already pooling on the floor beneath him. 

 

Joyce stopped in her tracks just long enough to be struck by a strange thought, _This is the first time I’ve ever seen Lucas cry_.  But as she rushed forward to him, she thought, _That can’t be true, can it?  All these years and I’ve never seen him cry, even when he was little_?

 

Joyce dismissed the thought from her mind as she reached Lucas and quickly took in what must have happened.  She noticed the blood trail heading back down the aisle, and saw that it originated on the pane of glass holding back the tide of plastic balls.  Joyce sighed.  She had warned Donald about that endcap a bunch of times.  Lucas must have been running and didn’t take the corner square.  He lifted his leg up, but not enough to fully clear the corner where the two panes of glass met.

 

The seeping cut on his leg told the rest of the tale.  Joyce snatched Lucas up in her arms and carried him with her towards the back of the store.  As she reached the other three boys, still loitering there, uselessly, she said, “C’mon, all of you.  We’re headed to the break room.”

 

The boys filed in behind her as she kept moving at a quick pace.  As they passed a bewildered Donald, she said evenly, “Lucas hurt himself on that glass endcap on the toy aisle.  I’ll send some of the boys back to help you clean up.”

 

Donald looked even more confused, as if he didn’t understand what needed to be cleaned up, but Joyce didn’t stop to discuss it.  He would see for himself soon enough.

 

Once Joyce got Lucas into the break room, she set him down on the table where Jonathan and Will normally did their homework while they waited for her.  Then she grabbed the roll of paper towels by the little sink and began to apply pressure to Lucas’s leg.  This made him howl louder.  She shushed him and told him he would be okay.

 

Then she turned to the other three and barked orders in a less soothing voice.  “Jonathan, you know where the Janitor’s closet is, right?”

 

Jonathan nodded.

 

“Okay, you’re going to take Mike, get the cleaning supplies, and go help Mr. Melvald clean up the toy aisle.  Can you guys do that for me?”

 

Jonathan nodded again and Mike said, “Yes, Ma’am.”

 

“Good boys.  Now go.  Be careful with the cleaner.  Jonathan you show Mike what to do, okay?”

 

“Yes, Mom.”

 

And they were gone.

 

Then she turned her attention to Will while still holding the wriggling Lucas in place and applying pressure to the cut.  She tried to sound soothing and calm, but firm, “Will, I need you to stop crying now.  You’re not hurt and Lucas is and I need you to help me, okay?”

 

Will sniffled and moved up next to the table, “What should I do?”

 

“Go up by Lucas’s head and hold his hand.”

 

Will did as he was told and Lucas didn’t pull away from the contact.  Joyce really just wanted Will out of the way and for him to stop panicking, as Will’s fear and tears were only adding fuel to Lucas’s own.

 

She tried to sound kinder now, “Lucas, I really need you to hold still.  At least your leg, so I can take a better look at it, okay, sweetie?”

 

Lucas went still then, and his crying partially subsided.  Joyce wiped off his leg, and probed to see how long and deep the wound really was.  She caught her breath and listened to her youngest son murmur softly, “You’re gonna be okay,” to his friend.  All she was trying to do was see how bad the damage was and if Lucas needed stitches, because if so, they would have to go to the Emergency Room right away, and if not, she could try to patch him up here.

 

Joyce desperately hoped that he wouldn’t need stitches.  Of all the days for one of the boys to get hurt it was on **_her_** day to pick them up.  And it hadn’t even happened at practice, where an injury might be expected.  No, it had happened in the middle of some store where Joyce hadn’t even told Mrs. Sinclair she was taking them to. 

 

And not just any store, but a store with a dangerous glass box at ground level, just begging for someone to get hurt.  Not only that, this store also happened to be where Joyce worked.  And it was a job that Joyce really needed to keep, so she couldn’t just cast the blame onto the store like she would have if this had happened **_anywhere_** else. 

 

Sometimes Joyce really and truly **_hated_** her life.

 

Joyce held in her breath as she lifted the paper towels to inspect the wound, and let out a relieved sigh.  It was clear that no stitches would be needed.  It was a bad cut, but the blood made it look worse than it was.  Joyce wasn’t even sure it would leave a permanent scar.  Knowing that the hospital was not necessary, really took a load off her mind.  She sent Will out to the store to get her some supplies to bandage Lucas up, and began to clean his leg with the paper towels and Wet-Naps she had at hand.

 

Once Will left, though, Lucas started getting wibbley again, so Joyce searched for something to take his mind off things.  She noticed he was still clinging to some fancy slingshot, so she seized on that and asked him about it.  Lucas was so enthused about the item - which she learned was called the Saunder's Archery "Wrist-Rocket" – he was still talking about it the whole time she cleaned off his leg, going back and forth to the sink for water as needed.  By the time Will returned with bandages, Lucas didn’t seem so distraught anymore, and Joyce knew more about the Saunder's Archery "Wrist-Rocket" than she really cared to.  Joyce nudged Will to try to get him engaged in the conversation so she could concentrate on bandaging Lucas’s leg.

 

She said, “Will, look at the cool Wrist Launcher Lucas found.”

 

Lucas corrected her automatically, “Wrist **_Rocket._** ”

 

It was that moment that convinced Joyce that Lucas would be okay.

 

            ---

 

Joyce was at the front counter of Melvald’s, arguing with Donald.  Again.  This had been going on for some time.

 

Joyce had already called Mrs. Sinclair to tell her that Lucas got hurt, but omitted exactly how it happened, at Donald’s urging.  All Mrs. Sinclair knew for sure was that Lucas had hurt his leg while running around in the store, and that there was “quite a mess” to clean up.  But most importantly, Lucas was okay.

 

Mrs. Sinclair urged Joyce to bring all the boys by her house so she could watch them while Joyce came back and “ironed things out” at the store.  Mrs. Sinclair had seemed concerned about whether or not Lucas had caused any damage to the store or the merchandise.

 

After talking to Mrs. Sinclair and struck by her understanding and unselfish nature, Joyce hoped Donald would be equally considerate towards the Sinclair family, but no such luck.

 

“But what kind of people are these Sinclairs?”  Donald asked, “Do I need to call my attorney?  Are they going to sue?”  Donald’s gaze left Joyce’s face, and he turned slightly to look down and to one side.

 

Joyce turned to look where Donald was looking, and saw Mike standing there holding the slingshot.

 

Mike didn’t look at Joyce but stared directly at Donald, his face wide, and his mouth turned down in a frown.  He managed to look both sad and accusatory all at once.

 

Donald broke eye contact with Mike immediately, and turned back to Joyce. “Well?”

 

“They’re good people Donald, nice people.  And Lucas isn’t badly hurt.  But I did warn you about that glass before.  And now you see I was right.”

 

“Yeah,” Mike piped up softly, as if speaking to himself.  “It would be one thing if I got hurt.  I mean, my own Mom says I’m accident prone, but Lucas is one of the best athletes on the team, so if he got hurt, then, y’know . . . “

 

Mike trailed off then, and absently placed the Wrist Rocket on the check-out counter and slid it noiselessly into the middle where it sat between Joyce and Donald.  Both of them looked at it.

 

Donald looked down at Mike, who then silently wandered away.  To Joyce he asked, “What do you suggest I do?”

 

Joyce considered.  “Well let me take the boys over to Mrs. Sinclair’s house and I’ll smooth things over with her.  Let her see for herself that Lucas is going to be all right.  And then I’ll come back and help you take down that glass case, so nothing like this **_ever_** happens again.”

 

Donald crossed one arm over his chest and brought the other up to his chin, thinking.

 

Neither of them noticed that Mike had returned until he quietly slid a couple more items up onto the check-out counter between them.  Joyce knew all of Melvald’s inventory and could see at a glance that the items Mike pushed up to rest beside the Wrist Rocket were a Pez Dispenser and a _Star Wars_ figure.

 

She turned to him, but Mike was still looking at Donald with his mournful expression, so Joyce plowed on, “And in case you’re worried about this lawyer idea, you can give Lucas this stuff,” she said gesturing to the items on the check-out counter, “as a good will gesture.  To show that that you’re more concerned about a **_child_** who got **_hurt_** in your store, and making sure he isn’t, y’know, upset . . .” Joyce trailed off, losing steam.

 

“Or scared,” Mike added softly.

 

“Or scared,” Joyce agreed, continuing, “That you’re more concerned with making sure Lucas is okay, than you are about calling your lawyer for his opinion.”

 

Donald looked at Joyce, and then back down at Mike, who only blinked silently up at him.  Then Donald sighed and started bagging up the items.

 

            ---

 

Lucas sat at his dining room table, his injured left leg propped up on another chair.  It was completely unnecessary, Lucas felt, but his Mother had insisted.  Lucas was already embarrassed in front of his friends since Mrs. Byers had carried him into the house like a baby.  Then, to make matters worse, his Mom displayed an endless show of exaggerated concern as she examined his wound and placed him in this chair like a fragile china doll.  The final straw was when she kissed him in front of his friends.  None of this was helping Lucas’s mood.

 

Jonathan and Will sat around the table with him, and Will was half-heartedly trying to play patty cake with Erica, while all three boys tried to ignore the Mom pow-wow going on by the front door.

 

Lucas glanced over at two of the founding members of the Mom Spy Network.  Although he couldn’t make out their exact words from here, he watched as they went through this elaborate dance of apologies and reassurances.  Finally the “transfer of the children” ritual seemed to come to an end, and Mrs. Byers promised to be back soon to get Will and Jonathan. 

 

On the way from the store to home Lucas got to sit in the front seat with Mrs. Byers. At the time he hadn’t really paid any attention to the other three boys in the backseat.  But now Lucas watched as Mike stood silently next to Mrs. Byers, rocking back and forth on his soccer cleats, and holding a Melvald’s bag in his hands.  Lucas thought it was weird that Mike hadn’t joined them at the dining room table, but Mike stuck close to Mrs. Byers all through the Mom dance.  As Mrs. Byers hitched up her purse as a signal that she was about to depart, Mike held the bag up, nudged Mrs. Byers, and handed her the package.  Lucas watched as Mrs. Byers said something else to his Mom and then handed the bag over to her.

 

Mrs. Byers took her leave and his Mom waved good-bye.  She shut the door behind her and ushered Mike into the dining room.  She held up the bag, gesturing to it as she entered, “Lucas, Mr. Melvald sent these along for you in the hopes that you get well real quick and to remind you to stop in again soon. “  She set the bag on the dining room table and started to rummage around in it.  “Wasn’t that nice? “

 

Lucas nodded his agreement and watched as his Mom reached into the bag and pulled out the Saunder's Archery "Wrist-Rocket”.  His mouth dropped open and Lucas lunged forward to grab it.

 

Mrs. Sinclair shot him a warning look. “Sit your butt down, Mister.  Leg up!”

 

Lucas frowned but complied, bouncing a little in his seat in his excitement, “That Wrist Rocket is for me?”

 

Mrs. Sinclair looked down at it suspiciously, scanning the package automatically for the suggested ages and any warnings listed.  Aloud she said, “This looks really dangerous.”

 

“It’s not Mom, it’s perfectly balanced.  It’s the newest model.  Super safe.”  Lucas reached for the slingshot.

 

Mrs. Sinclair pulled it right away from him.  “No.  I want your Father to take a look at this first.  I mean it.  It does look dangerous, like you could really hurt someone.”

 

“Aww Mom.”

 

“Don’t ‘aww Mom’ me.  We’ll let your Father take a look at it.  If **_he_** thinks you’re old enough to have something like this, he can show you how to use it **_safely_** this weekend, but for now it’s going up on the fridge.”

 

Lucas knew what that meant.  Any confiscated items or toys taken away as punishment went up on top of the refrigerator.  And when his Dad got home, his Dad would always notice the item on top of the fridge, and then they would have to have “a discussion” at dinner about what had happened that day to get something put “up on the fridge.”

 

But here, Lucas felt he hadn’t done anything wrong.  He had only gotten a gift as an honor for his war wounds.  Like how his Dad described getting a medal for being injured in the line of duty.  The Wrist Rocket was way better than any medal though.  He tried one last feeble attempt to keep the Wrist Rocket from going up on the fridge, even though he suspected it was useless, “Mom, I can use it safely, c’mon, I’ll be careful.”

 

Mrs. Sinclair gave him a tired look.  “That would seem a little more convincing if you weren’t sitting there with a bloody leg, Lucas.  I mean,” she gestured at him, “you weren’t that careful today, were you?   You could have really gotten hurt.  And now Mrs. Byers has to go smooth things over with Mr. Melvald.”

 

Lucas found this really unfair, and opened his mouth to protest, but then his Mom shot him a “don’t test me” look, and Lucas thought better of it. 

 

Mike piped up then, using what Lucas thought of as his “teacher’s helper” voice that he sometimes used at school, sounding light and casual, “There are a couple other things in there, Mrs. Sinclair, maybe Lucas could have **_those_** right now.” 

 

“Thank you Michael,” she said, rummaging in the bag.

 

Aside from Mike’s own parents, and a couple of teachers at school, Lucas’s Mom was one of the last holdouts who still refused to call Mike by the name he preferred.  Even Lucas’s Dad called him “Mike”.  Lucas wondered for a while if it was some decision that the Mom Spy Network had come to, but that was proven wrong because Mrs. Byers called him “Mike” now too.   But Mike never let on that it bothered him.  Lucas could tell that Mike liked his Mom. 

 

Mrs. Sinclair pulled two other items out of the bag, inspected them briefly and handed them over to Lucas.  She said, “Now isn’t that nice, he even knows that you like _Star Wars_ ,”

 

“Everyone likes _Star Wars_ ,” Mike observed sagely.

 

Mrs. Sinclair favored Mike with a smile, “True enough.  Even I like the big dog-man.”

 

Mike’s smile crumpled into a frown and his mouth shot open.

 

Lucas cut in before Mike could speak, “Chewie’s a Wookiee, Mom, **_not_** a dog.”

 

“If you say so dear,” she said getting up from the table with the Wrist Rocket still in hand.  “Now I’m going to see what I can rustle up for you guys for a treat.  Mrs. Byers said you were all very helpful and that you,” she touched Lucas on the head, “were very brave.  So I think you all deserve a treat.  You guys watch Erica and you call me if you need **_anything_**.”

 

Once his Mom was gone, Lucas held out the Greedo figure and the Thor Pez dispenser and said, “This **_reeks_** of you, Wheeler.  Is this where you were when Jonathan and Will were watching over me in the break room?  Stuffing a goodie bag with things **_you_** wanted?”

 

Mike brought a hand up to his heart in mock offense and said in a high-pitched tone, “ ** _I_** wanted?  No.  For **_you_**.  I got it all for you.”  Mike punctuated the “yous”, by pointing directly to Lucas on each “you”.

 

Jonathan snickered, and Will continued to devote his attention to Erica.

 

“I don’t care about Pez dispensers, Mike.” 

 

Mike shrugged then, smiling, “Well, if you’re sure **_you_** don’t want it, I’ll take it for my collection.  I wouldn’t want it to, y’know, go to waste.” 

 

Mike reached for the Pez dispenser then, but Lucas held it out of reach and scowled at him, “Seriously?”

 

“Hey, I got you the Wrist Rocket didn’t I?” 

 

Lucas reluctantly nodded at that, thinking it over.  The Wrist Rocket was definitely an expensive item and it wasn’t likely that his parents would ever buy it for him.  But now that it was already in the house and Lucas had **_earned_** it and had the battle scar to **_prove_** it, there was a pretty good chance he could convince his Dad to let him keep it.  Lucas figured that if he played his cards right, he could get his Dad to get the Wrist Rocket back from the forbidden land of “up on the fridge” and teach him how to use it.  Lucas softened the hard look he was giving Mike.

 

“Look,” said Mike, “Just give me the Pez, and I’ll run across the street to my house and get you something in exchange, okay?” 

 

“Fair trade?” 

 

“Fair Trade,” Mike raised his hand to cross his heart, “I know just the thing you need.” 

 

Lucas was intrigued, so he handed over the Pez dispenser and watched as Mike brought it to his head and mock-saluted them all with it.  He shouted, “Be right back,” in the direction of the kitchen and ran out the front door.

 

Lucas watched Will playing with Erica and then remembered he had something he wanted to show them.  “You know my Grandma taught me how to play chess, right?”

 

“Yeah?” Jonathan asked, interested.

 

“Well she also got me a little chess set too.  Not as cool as my Dad’s but one I can play with all the time.  You wanna come see it?” 

 

Will looked over and said, “That’s okay.  I’ll watch Erica, I can see it later.  But Jonathan knows how to play chess.”

 

Jonathan got up and looked at Lucas and then down at Lucas’s wounded leg.  The older boy leaned over as if he was about to try to pick Lucas up, just like Mrs. Byers had.  Lucas shook his head at that.  “No way, I can walk man.  C’mon.”

 

            ---

 

Will Byers giggled as Erica petted his head, running her stubby little fingers through his hair.

 

Will had joined Erica on the floor and she was now sit-standing in his lap, apparently fascinated by his hair.  Will didn’t think his hair was **_that_** long, but when he thought about it, it was definitely longer than Lucas’s hair.  And Erica wasn’t yanking on it or anything, so Will didn’t mind.  It did tickle sometimes though.  And every time he smiled or laughed, Erica burbled over with laughter as well.  He giggled again.  Erica smiled.

 

Will figured that Erica had to be about three or four.  It was weird thinking back on it, but Lucas didn’t really talk about Erica that much.  She had been born before Will knew Lucas very well, so maybe Lucas had talked more about it when his Mom was still pregnant.  But since he had known Lucas, he always talked less about his sister than Mike or Will talked about their siblings. 

 

_Mostly we only bring up Jonathan and Nancy to complain about them, but still._

 

His Mom had urged him to try to get Lucas to pay more attention to Erica, and Will had tried his best.  Just pointing out the cool things about having a brother or sister hadn’t worked.  Then Will had tried to appeal to Lucas’s better nature, to get Lucas to put himself in Erica’s shoes, to see how he might be making her feel.  That didn’t seem to have any impact either.

 

Mike had suggested that they just insult Erica and push her down to see what Lucas would do, but Will was **_not_** going to do **_that_**.

 

Will still had two ideas left, and since Lucas got hurt, both of them could be put into action right away.  He leaned over to whisper to the little girl.  “Erica, can you help me?”

 

She looked at him and nodded eagerly.

 

“Lucas got hurt today.  He got a bad owie, and it really hurt him. So I was thinking, do you want to draw him a picture or something to try to make him feel better?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay,” nodded Will.  “I’ll help.”

 

He set her on her feet and then stood up, holding out his hand for her to take.  She grabbed it and he led her to the kitchen, which was separated from the dining area by a small island.  He saw that Mrs. Sinclair was popping some popcorn in a kettle.  And she had a saucepan on the stove as well, with something simmering in it.  He said, “Mrs. Sinclair, Erica wanted to draw a picture for Lucas, so I’m going to take her to her room and help her, okay?”

 

“Thanks, Will.  I’ll come get you once the popcorn cake is done.  Just yell if she starts to act up, and I’ll come get her.”

 

“I will.”

 

Will walked down the hall, slowly, keeping pace with Erica.  Will thought if Erica could show Lucas how much she cared about **_him_** , maybe Lucas would see that it wasn’t some one-way street.  This was the first of Will’s final two ideas.  Will liked to think that Jonathan got something out of their relationship too.  Not just extra chores or a little shadow following him around the house.  Will would often draw something for Jonathan as a way of saying “thank you” or “love you,” and he could help Erica do the same.

 

On their way to Erica’s room, they passed Lucas’s open door.  Will peeked in and saw Lucas and Jonathan standing around Lucas’s little desk looking over a chess board.  One look at Lucas’s face told Will all he needed to know.  Lucas’s face was scrunched up in concentration and his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he considered his next move.  Will didn’t know how to play chess, but he could tell just from his friend’s grim expression that Lucas thought he was losing.

 

Will knew his friends well enough to know how they reacted to losing or not being good at something. 

 

Mike was likely to quit any game or activity that he didn’t think he was good at.  And Mike liked to assign them all specialties.  Mike used to draw along with Will, but slowly stopped doing it as much.  Will had offered to help him learn to draw better, and Mike had tried a couple of times, but just got frustrated with himself.  Now Mike said he didn’t need to learn to draw, not when Will was “the best” at it.  He just asked Will to draw the things he needed.  If Mike asked for more lessons now, Will would gladly teach him any time, but secretly Will was proud to have something he was so much better at than his friends.

 

Lucas was the opposite.  When Mike or Will were better than Lucas at something, Lucas would normally double his efforts to learn.  He would practice, wanting to beat the other boys at the sport, or game, or activity.  And bonding with Erica was not **_exactly_** a sport or game, but maybe it **_could_** be.  At least for the purpose of igniting Lucas’s desire to beat them at everything. 

 

This was the second of Will’s ideas.  And all he had to do was bond with Erica.  Will looked down at her and she squeezed his hand.  Will thought, _She’s so cute, bonding with her won’t be hard at all_.

 

            ---

 

Mike Wheeler entered the Sinclair house without knocking.  He was carrying a brown paper sack which contained his “fair trade” for Lucas.  He had put it in a bag at his house so his Mom wouldn’t see what it was.  That turned into an unnecessary precaution since he entered his house, found the items, bagged them, and left again without anyone noticing he’d been there.

 

Mike entered the dining area and was surprised to see that everyone was gone.  He saw Mrs. Sinclair bustling around in the kitchen, though and wandered that way. 

 

He stood at the edge of the kitchen and watched Mrs. Sinclair cooking.  He liked to watch Mrs. Sinclair in the kitchen.  He thought that she was a magic cook.  When he watched his own Mother cooking it never looked like this.  With his Mom it was a parade of cookbooks and recipe cards and machines and bowls and timers and all these precise measuring cups and spoons.  And sometimes interesting new curse words she muttered under her breath.

 

But with Mrs. Sinclair, it was like she could make something out of nothing.  He remembered last winter there’d been a snow day where his Mom had an appointment and arranged for Mrs. Sinclair to watch him and Nancy last minute.  Mrs. Sinclair was suddenly confronted with two extra mouths to feed and hadn’t made it to the store due to the snow.  Mike watched her open cupboards and root around the fridge, pulling out certain items, and stashing all the rejected items back on the shelf.  To Mike it looked completely random. 

 

But she had just come up with this weird combination of leftover meat and all these vegetables and made these delicious dumplings, and combined it all into a big pot.  As she seasoned and tasted it, she didn’t seem to measure **_anything_**.  It was just a pinch of this and a random spoonful of that. And they had all enjoyed a great stew by the time all was said and done.

 

She always seemed to be able to do that, just make something out of whatever she had on hand.  And she never measured or poured over a recipe book like his Mom did.  Mrs. Sinclair’s meals never turned out dry or burned or soupy like the stuff Will’s Mom made.  It was always awesome.  Normally Mike would turn up his nose at anything new or too adventurous, and his Mom called him a “fussy eater.”  But with Mrs. Sinclair’s cooking wizardry, Mike was willing to try whatever she put in front of him.

 

He wandered further into the kitchen to watch her work her magic.  She was pouring some popcorn from a bowl into a saucepan which was filled with steaming caramel colored syrup.  Then she mixed it in until the coating covered the popcorn and acted as a binding.

 

“What is that brown stuff?”

 

She had heard Mike approach, and didn’t look away from what she was doing.  “The base is just butter and marshmallows and brown sugar all melted together.  We’re going to cover the popcorn and a few walnuts I had with the liquid base and shape it into that cake pan over there.  Can you grab it for me?”

 

Mike grabbed the pan which had the smeary white tell-tale sign of being spread with lard or Crisco to keep things from sticking and brought it over to her.

 

“Thanks Michael.  What have you got there?” She inclined her head at the paper bag he was carrying.

 

“Just something for Lucas.”

 

“That’s nice of you.  Now stand back.”

 

Mike took a step back and watched her pour the covered popcorn and nuts into the pan, then spread it evenly using a spatula.  When she was done he moved up to the pan and peered inside.  He took in a big whiff of the sugary popcorn scent and reached out a hand.

 

“You stay back from that, it has to cool and set.  You go find all the other kids and tell everyone to get washed up.  By the time you lot get that managed, the popcorn cake will be cool enough to eat.”

 

“Yes Ma’am.”

 

Mike headed back out and down the hall to Lucas’s room.  There he found Jonathan and Lucas still playing chess.

 

“Hey,” Mike announced himself, “Who’s winning?”

 

Jonathan shook his head as if he was unsure.  He said, “It’s still anyone’s game.”

 

Mike looked at the large collection of opposing pieces Jonathan had collected, and compared it to the much smaller number that Lucas had collected, and said, “Yeah, it sure **_looks_** close.”

 

“You’re right,” Lucas sighed.  “I think Jonathan got me this time.”  He nodded over to Jonathan, “Good game man.  Wanna play again?”

 

“I’m supposed to find everyone and have us all get washed up and come back to the dining room for a snack.  Popcorn cake, your Mom said.”

 

Jonathan smiled.  “Smells Good.”

 

“Everything Mrs. Sinclair cooks smells good,” Mike commented.

 

“That’s not true,” Lucas smirked.  “You weren’t here the night she tried to make stir fry.  It smelled like burning diapers.”

 

Mike laughed, “I stand corrected.”

 

Mike handed the paper bag to Lucas.  “Here.  Fair trade.  I think after today you really need these more than I do.”

 

Mike kept his face neutral, not wanting to show that this was a payback moment he’d actually been waiting for.  His Mom called that “holding grudges,” but Mike preferred to think of it as merely having a decent memory and a good sense of timing.  Mike waited until the exact moment that Lucas had opened the bag and peered inside and recognized what was in there before speaking.  He said evenly, “Maybe I’m not the **_only_** klutzy one.”

 

Lucas scowled as he pulled Mike’s shin guards out of the paper bag.  He looked down at them for a second grimly, then turned to face Mike directly.  Mike moved in closer to Lucas so they were standing directly in front of each other. They both puffed up their chests, and Lucas’s nostrils flared.  They looked only at each other, as if Jonathan wasn’t even in the room.  They continued to stare stonily at each other for another second, until Mike broke the unannounced staring contest and gave Lucas a shit-eating grin. 

 

Then Lucas smiled back and said, “Good one.  And thanks for the equipment, I guess.” 

 

“No problem,” Mike shrugged, “I don’t think I’m going to sign up for soccer again anyways. “

 

“Oh no,” mocked Lucas, trying to sound upset, “How will we ever lose most of our games without you?”

 

“I think you’ll manage, just fine.”  Mike’s expression softened.  He said, “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

 

“Thanks.” 

 

“Your Mom said everyone had to get washed up.  Where’s Will and your sister?”

 

Jonathan spoke up then, “I think they went to Erica’s room.”

 

Mike slung his arm around Lucas’s shoulder, “Can you make it?  Like your Dad always says, ‘No Man Left Behind.’”

 

Lucas shrugged off Mike’s arm effortlessly and threw the shin guards down into a corner of his room, “I think that’s actually the Army Rangers.  **_My_** Dad was in the Navy.”

 

As they headed over to Erica’s room, Mike acted like he just remembered something and said, “I just thought of another thing you can teach Erica when you’re spending more time with her.”

 

“Oh yeah?”  Lucas asked in a put upon voice.

 

“Yeah, she’s still little so she only just learned how to suck.”  Mike clapped Lucas on the back, “And here you’ve been perfecting it for **_years_**.”

 

            ---

 

Mike stood in the door to Erica’s room with Jonathan and Lucas.  None of them had entered the room.  None of them wanted to interrupt what seemed like a weirdly private moment.

 

Will was singing to Erica in a sweet little falsetto.  Mike recognized the song at once.  He had heard Will sing along with Dorothy before, but it was new to hear Will sing it solo and with no music.

_Somewhere over the rainbow way up high_  
_There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby_  
_Somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue_  
_And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true_

 

Erica had her feet planted firmly on Will’s feet and he was holding her hands, and dance-shuffling along to the music he was creating with his clear voice.  Erica didn’t seem to notice them in her doorway.  At that moment, she seemed to only have eyes for Will.

 

_Someday I'll wish upon a star_

_And wake up where the clouds are far_

_Behind me_

_Where troubles melt like lemon drops_

_Away above the chimney tops_

_That's where you'll find me_

 

Mike glanced over at Jonathan and quietly judged him for the sappy smile on his face.  Then Mike looked over at Lucas and saw that Lucas was not smiling, but had a thoughtful look on his face.  Mike looked back at Will and Erica, still shuffle dancing.  Will was turning slowly towards them.  Mike figured he would see them soon and the impromptu performance would come to an abrupt end.

 

_Somewhere over the rainbow bluebirds fly_

_Birds fly over the rainbow._

_Why then, oh, why can't I?_

 

Will shuffled around far enough to see them then, but he didn’t stop like Mike thought he might.  Will just smiled at them and continued.  When Mike felt himself smile back, involuntarily, he wondered if now he had to judge **_himself_** for his own sappy smile.  Will looked away from them then, lifted Erica onto her own two feet, and took a deep breath for his big finish.

 

_If happy little bluebirds fly_

_Beyond the rainbow._

_Why, oh, why can't I?_

 

Erica clapped a little then, and Will bent down and turned her so she faced the doorway, and whispered something in her ear that Mike couldn’t make out.

 

Erica raced over to her bed, picked up a piece of paper there, and ran over to Lucas, shouting his name.  She shoved the little drawing at her brother and said, “I’m sorry you got an owie.”  Then she latched onto his good leg and hugged it.

 

Mike peeked at the drawing and it looked like a bunch of scribbles to him.  But something here was getting to Lucas.  Whether it was the hug or the picture or his blood loss earlier in the day, Lucas extracted his leg from Erica’s grip and knelt to be at her eye level.  He hugged her back and said, “Thanks Erica.  I’ll be okay.”  Lucas held up the picture as if he was looking at a priceless work of art.  “You made this for me?”

 

“Will helped,” Erica said pointing over at Will.

 

“That was nice of him.  And you liked him singing to you?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Well if you liked that sappy white lady song,” Lucas said, grabbing her under her bottom and hitching her up onto his hip, “You’re gonna love this.”

 

With his free hand, he shooed Jonathan and Mike out of the doorway and did a little shimmy dance.  It was moves like this that reminded Mike why Lucas always said Mike was clumsy.  Mike didn’t think he could do that even with his hands free, but Lucas had his sister and the drawing still in his hands while he made a turn into the hallway and also started to sing.

 

_Oh, there may be times_

_When you wish you wasn't born_

_And you wake one morning_

_Just to find that your courage's gone_

_But just know that feeling_

_Only last a little while_

_You just stick with us_

_And we'll show you how to smile, yeah_

 

Lucas moved out of the room and into the hall past Jonathan and Mike.  He copied the moves Michael Jackson performed in _The Wiz_.  Though Lucas was hampered by the narrow hallway and a laughing toddler, Mike had to admit both the dancing and the singing were amazing.  Lucas was clearly more of a showman than Will.

 

_Ease on down, ease on down the road_

_Come on, ease on down, ease on down the road_

_Don't you carry nothing that might be a load_

_Come on, ease on down, ease on down the road_

 

As Lucas passed Mike, Jonathan fell in behind Lucas and Erica, following them towards the kitchen.  At the far end of the hall, Mrs. Sinclair appeared to see what the ruckus was.  As she took in the sight of her offspring dancing down the hall towards her, she smiled softly and starting mouthing the words on the chorus.

 

Mike stood where he was, leaning against the wall.  As Will exited Erica’s room and came up to stand beside Mike, Mike moved over to make room.  Will leaned against the wall too, and they watched as the procession headed out for some popcorn cake.

 

Mike glanced over at Will and Will didn’t look away.  _To his credit_ , Mike thought, _He doesn’t look **too** smug._

 

Mike said evenly, “Looks like you did it.”

 

“Oh?” Will asked innocently, “Did what?”

 

“Got Lucas to care about Erica.  The Mom Spy Network will be **_so_** proud.”

 

Will raised an eyebrow, “Mom Spy Network?”

 

“That’s what Lucas calls them.  All the Moms.” 

 

“So you’re ready to call it then?” asked Will.

 

“Uh, yeah.  He hugged her and danced down the hall with her like they were in a movie, so . . . “  Mike splayed his hands out in front of him as if nothing more need be said.  Then he shook his head and muttered under his breath, “I **_knew_** I should have pushed her down.”

 

Mike sighed and said, “Okay.  Well, you won the bet, what do you want?”

 

“I’ll take that Thor Pez dispenser.”  Will held out his hand palm up.

 

“A bet’s a bet,” Mike reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out the Thor Pez dispenser and wordlessly slapped it into Will’s open palm.

 

“I should not make bets with you,” Mike said, shaking his head sadly.

 

Will pocketed the Pez dispenser and shook his head in agreement, “No, you should **_not_**.”  

 

Lucas appeared at the end of the hallway with a huge slab of popcorn cake in his hand.  He called down to them, “C’mon guys, ease on down that hallway.  If you don’t hurry, Erica’s gonna lick it all before you can get any.”

 

Will looked at Mike and Mike stuck out his tongue like he was licking something invisible in the air and then shot Will a goofy grin.  Will giggled and put a hand to his face.  Then they both raced down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for continuing to read these stories. I really appreciate any feedback or questions, so thanks in advance if you take the time to post something in the comments.
> 
> Next week the last member of the foursome arrives and "The Party" starts to take shape.


	4. D-Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys meet Dustin Henderson for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the place I put chapter specific warnings that don't rise to the level of AO3's archive warnings:
> 
> Chapter Four warnings:
> 
> Period accurate language not acceptable in today's world.
> 
> Depiction of verbal and physical schoolyard bullying.
> 
> Dustin has arrived, and the boys are getting older, so expect explicit language and crude humor in this and all future chapters.

Will Byers dawdled as he walked up to the grade school.  He knew he was early, so there was absolutely no reason to hurry.  Except for the falling snow and the oppressive January cold.  Will scuffed his feet along as he walked, allowing his boots to kick up swirls of powdery snow.  Normally Will would walk or ride his bike to school, but last night Mom had announced the weather was going to be too bad on their first day back from Christmas break.  She wanted everyone to get up early so she could drive Jonathan and Will to school.  This morning they piled in the car and Will was dropped off first.  Mom still had to take Jonathan to the Junior High and then get herself to work on time, and the snow was making driving slower than usual.

 

Will wondered why it felt so strange walking up to the school today, and then realized it could be two things.  The first was that he was walking up to the building alone.  Until this year, he had always come to school with Jonathan.  Then this year when he walked or rode his bike alone, he was only alone until Mike and Lucas joined him.  The second weird thing was there were no other kids on the playground or lining up in front of the school doors.  Normally kids would mill about and play until the first bell, when they were supposed to line up with their class until their teacher came to get them.

 

As Will got closer, he saw the Principal agreed with his Mom’s decision that it was too snowy and cold for the kids to be outside.  There was a little sign on the front door that said “Line up in gym today.”  So Will turned and walked to the side door that led directly into the gym.  This door was normally locked, but today it was propped open slightly so the kids could enter.  This was the door they used when they went outside for gym to the little field behind the school where they could run races, or play red rover, soccer, and softball.  The field was where they held “Superstars” too, a weird school-wide semi-sports contest and awards day each spring. 

 

Will had to pull hard against the cold wind to get the gym door open enough to slip inside.  Once he did he was surprised by how subdued everyone was.  There was very little running around or noise, and some of the kids were already sitting or standing in their class lines.  Others sat listlessly on the small bleachers off to one side of the gym, all in various stages of shedding their mittens, hats, scarves, boots and coats.  Maybe it was the fact that it was the first day back after a long winter break.  Or maybe it was the overcast winter weather itself, making the kids move a little slower and talk a little lower.

 

A screech echoed from down on the far side of the gym, where some of the fifth and sixth graders were running around more energetically than the rest.  Will eyed them warily, remembering why he was normally glad to show up at school with his brother or friends around him.  There was some safety in numbers, and there were several older boys that Will wanted to avoid if possible.  So he didn’t move towards Mrs. Stavros’s fourth grade class line up.  Since they lined up in grade order, walking past the lower grade lines would just take him deeper into the gym and closer to the fifth and sixth graders he wanted to avoid.  Instead, he stood against the outside wall of the gym, and watched the older kids down at the other end of the gym.  He could also look to his right where the bleachers were and see the double doors to the main part of the school.  When Mike and Lucas arrived, he would see them come in on his left. 

 

While he was waiting, bored, his eyes wandered to the double doors that led into the school proper.  They were standing open so the staff in the glass encased front office could at least partly monitor the gym.  Will saw his Principal, Mr. Burnell, standing outside the office talking to a woman and a boy.  Mr. Burnell towered over them both.  The school principal was the tallest person Will had ever met in person, and most of the kids were scared of him.  Will had once seen him confront an enormous sixth grader who looked like he was already growing a mustache.  When the boy got physical, Mr. Burnell had simply picked him up like he weighed nothing and threw the boy over his shoulder and carried him down to the office.  Will liked the idea of staying somewhere Mr. Burnell could see him, so decided to stay where he was for the time being. 

 

Will studied the woman and the boy.  The woman had blonde hair and smiled up at Mr. Burnell as she spoke to him, talking animatedly with some gestures and ending her point by putting her hand on the head of the boy next to her.  The boy looked about Will’s age, but Will didn’t recognize him.  He was wearing a hat, but not a knit winter hat like the one Will wore.  This boy was wearing a colored baseball cap over what looked like piles of dark brown curls.  The boy was smiling widely, and shifting back and forth on his feet.

 

“Hey, Byers.”

 

Will turned his head to see Lucas and Mike enter the gym.  “Hey Lucas,” Will looked over and saw they came in alone.  “Where’s Erica?”

 

“Still feeling sick, so Mom kept her home.”

 

“Bummer.”

 

“I tried to get her to let me stay home too, but no dice.”

 

“I’m glad she made you come,” interrupted Mike.  “Otherwise I may have had to walk to school alone in this crap.”  He kicked his boots against the baseboard to rid them of snow.

 

Will followed his friends as they headed towards the bleachers.

 

Mike said, “I tried to call you this morning on the comms, to see if we needed to wait for you.”

 

Will shrugged.  “Yeah, sorry.  My Mom got us up and insisted on driving us to school.  We had to leave early because she had to get to work.”

 

Mike brushed that off.  “No biggie, but the comms are working great right?  It’s impossible to get any phone time at my house between my Mom and Nancy, so this way we can all talk.”

 

“In **_private,_** ” added Lucas, nodding.

 

Will nodded back.  “Yeah they’re great.  Thank you both again.”

 

Lucas and Mike had both gotten a pair of Realistic brand CB radios this Christmas.  They had researched the brand and model they wanted to get well in advance and pitched the idea separately to their parents.  They both asked for two, because the whole point of getting walkie-talkies was to have someone to talk to.

 

“Thank Mr. Newby at Radio Shack, he’s the one who helped us figure out which one would be best to reach all the way out to your place,” Mike observed, smiling in remembrance.

 

“And my Dad was the one who really got behind getting them.  He used to work as a communications officer in the service, y’know, and he knows a lot about shortwave radios.”

 

Will did know this because Lucas bragged about his Dad all the time.  But Will was super grateful to both of them, so he didn’t mind if Lucas was a little Dad-proud sometimes.  Will knew that at least part of the reason they had each asked for two radios was because of him.  They didn’t say it, but they both understood Will’s family could not get him a gift like that.  So the first time they got together after Christmas, Mike had pressed one of his radios into Will’s hands with a smile. Lucas showed Will how to use it, and they had been able to talk privately ever since.

 

Will didn’t see the need for the comms in the same way his friends did.  Will was alone or with Jonathan a lot of the time, and didn’t really have the same problems Mike did in getting phone time.  And Will didn’t share Lucas’s worries regarding the Mom Spy Network listening in on their conversations.  But Will did have to admit it was kind of fun being able to reach each other at any time.  They had already all gotten in trouble for calling each other and talking long into the night. If they continued at this pace now that they were back in school, one of the comms would get taken away for sure.  But right now it was the thing that most excited them, and Mike and Lucas could not stop talking about it.

 

It took both of the other boys some time to get used to the fact they couldn’t interrupt each other on the comms.  When Mike and Lucas talked face to face they interrupted each other **_all_** the time.  Since Will rarely cut in when someone else was speaking, he got the hang of the “over” and “over and out” codes really quickly and had enjoyed being able to talk to his friends in the privacy of his own room.

 

Will had an impulse to thank them again, but suppressed it.  When they actually gave it to him, in the immediate post-Christmas afterglow, they had accepted his thanks and hugs, excitedly.  But every time he had thanked them since, they tended to give him weird looks.  Will interpreted the looks as meaning he was overdoing it with the “thank yous”.

 

So instead of another “thank you,” Will said, “I’m so glad you guys thought of this.  The cool thing is that we can take them on our bikes and into the woods and still keep in touch.  It’s so much cooler than a normal phone.”

 

“Exactly,” Lucas said, and Mike nodded along thoughtfully.

 

Will was about to point out the kid with the hat by the office, but his thought was interrupted by the first bell. 

 

They all sighed, dejected, and went over to join the line so Mrs. Stavros could lead them into class.

 

            ---

 

Lucas Sinclair twirled his pencil as he half-listened to Mrs. Stavros talk about the word of the day.

 

She had already taken attendance and done the hot lunch count and they all stood for the Pledge when it came over the loudspeaker.  The word of the day was her way of getting the kids into “learning” mode and having them start to think about spelling and vocabulary for a little bit each day.  Prior to the break there had been a pattern of words of the day that ended in a “shun” sound.  As Mrs. Stavros wrote today’s word of the day on the board Lucas saw they must still be on the same list she was working off before, because today’s word was “fraction”.

 

Lucas saw instantly that **_this_** word of the day could also lead into a discussion about math, so it served even more purposes than just vocab and spelling. 

_But, man, I’m bored of all the “shun” words._

 

Lucas often found his mind wandering in class.  He was not as bad as Mike, who had stood up when they were in second grade and literally said to Mrs. Ray, “Tell me something I don’t already know,” in his smart aleck tone. 

 

Lucas wouldn’t do that, but he did agree with Mike that sometimes school moved too slowly.  

 

_We got it already with the “shun” words.  There are lots of ways to use letters to make a “shun” sound and if you had to guess what type of word a word that ends in “shun” is, you should guess noun, because that’s what most of them are._

 

Lucas sighed, and felt bad for being annoyed at Mrs. Stavros.  His Mom said he and his friends were “too smart” for their own good, and the school agreed.  Mike and Will and Lucas and some of the other kids got to go see a different teacher sometimes in what they called the “Gifted Program”.  It sounded cool, like they would be taught by Professor X or something, but all it really meant was more advanced classes and extra homework. 

 

_But it least it’s interesting._

 

Sometimes the gifted teacher also gave them suggestions about what they could do if they were bored in class.  Will’s official answer to the gifted teacher was that he chose to take extra notes and to color code them.  But Lucas knew when Will was **_really_** bored, he doodled to keep himself occupied. 

 

Everyone agreed that Mike needed an outlet that would keep him quiet, so Mike had quickly latched onto the “read ahead” idea.  When Mike was bored he read ahead in his other textbooks or in the library books or comics he brought for fun.  Some teachers tried to curb this at first, or forbid Mike from reading outside materials in class.  But they soon learned that it was a great way to keep him quiet, and often let it slide.

 

Lucas liked another of the gifted teacher’s suggestions and used it whenever his mind started to wander.  She told him to take whatever was being taught that he already knew, and to think ahead of how he thought the rest of the lesson would be presented.  Or to think about how he could give a clever twist on the material using what he knew. 

 

Lucas did this now with the “shun” words, trying to use as many different ones as he could think of. 

 

He thought, _I have compassion for you Mrs. Stavros and I don’t want to be a distraction or a disruption as you work through your collection of words ending in “shun” sounds, but I wonder what your reaction would be if I stood up and announced that it’s my suggestion and conclusion that the solution to my boredom would be the completion of this lesson._

 

_Nine_ , Lucas counted off.  _Pretty good._

Then something interesting actually happened.  There was a quick rap on the door, and then Mr. Burnell opened the door and ushered in a new kid.  They normally didn’t get new kids mid school year, but it wasn’t unheard of.  Normally new people were rare, and Lucas had been going to school with pretty much the same exact kids for his whole life.  So he looked up with interest as Mr. Burnell said something to Mrs. Stavros, while the new kid just stood there waiting.

 

Lucas took him in.  The kid was wearing jeans with the cuffs rolled up and a zipped sweatshirt over a t-shirt that had some writing on it that Lucas couldn’t make out.  He was sort of chubby and was wearing a baseball cap in school.  Lucas nodded appreciatively.  His Dad had a thing about showing respect and was strict about Lucas wearing caps indoors.  Lucas didn’t think wearing a baseball cap was forbidden in school, but he thought it was maybe frowned upon. 

 

_This kid didn’t get the memo_ , Lucas thought.  _Or maybe he just doesn’t care_.

 

The kid had big round rosy cheeks, and granted Mrs. Stavros a wide smile as he stuck out his hand to shake hands with her.  Mrs. Stavros gave him a surprised look, but took his hand and he gave her a vigorous handshake.

 

Mr. Burnell whispered something else to Mrs. Stavros and then left.  Mrs. Stavros came around her desk to stand with the new kid, and introduce him.

 

“Class, we have a new student joining us today, Dustin Henderson.  Now I want all of you to give him a warm Hawkins welcome, and help show him around.”  She leaned down to look at Dustin, “Dustin do you want to tell the class something about yourself?”

 

Lucas sighed inwardly.  Lots of teachers did this, and it always seemed awkward at best and downright embarrassing at worst.  Most kids didn’t want to give a speech of any sort at any time, much less one about themselves to a class full of kids.  Lucas expected a long pause and lots of “umms” and “uhs” before Mrs. Stavros would allow this poor kid to take his seat.

 

So Lucas was surprised when the new kid smiled again at Mrs. Stavros and said, “Thanks M’lady.”

 

Then Dustin stepped forward and did a one-handed wave at the class.  “Hi everyone.  I’m Dustin Henderson and we just moved here from Wisconsin.  I have a pet cat named Mews and a turtle named Yertle.  And I was sort of hoping that today would be a snow day, but since it’s not, it’s really nice to meet you all.”

 

Lucas noticed that there was something about the way Dustin spoke.  Something about the way he said his “S” sounds. 

 

_Maybe not a lisp exactly, but something._

 

Lucas watched as Mrs. Stavros gave the new kid a pile of books and directed him to take an empty seat in the back row.  Lucas smiled.  The unimaginative teachers always sat them in alphabetical order, just like their cubbys were set out.  This meant the new kid was being sent back to the empty seats in the back row near Mike.

 

Lucas turned around in his seat and smirked back at Mike, and raised his eyebrow to punctuate the look.  Mike sat with his shoulders slumped, sighed, and gave Lucas a death look.

 

Lucas laughed quietly to himself.  Then he turned back to face the blackboard and find out what else Mrs. Stavros had to say about the word of the day.

 

            ---

 

Mike Wheeler was much more interested in Alpha Flight than the Missouri Compromise.  Though he had his history book propped up on his desk and open to the relevant page, like all the other kids, his attention was focused on the copy of _The_ _Uncanny X-Men_ issue 121 open in his lap instead.  It was more interesting to re-read how Alpha Flight downed the X-Men’s plane to try to get Wolverine back, than to hear about the ancient history of Missouri and Maine.

 

The morning had dragged on and on and Mike was glad it was almost lunch time.   Mike had read all about the Missouri Compromise in his history book weeks ago, prior to break anyway.  And it wasn’t even interesting then.

 

Mrs. Stavros continued, “And as part of the com-promise, both Missouri and Maine were to be admitted together, maintaining the balance between the North and the South.”

 

Mike ground his teeth.  He was only half listening, but Mrs. Stavros was driving him berserk.  Mike knew Mrs. Stavros was Greek, she talked about it all the time.  And he knew that English was maybe not her first language.  And he knew he should be more “charitable” as his Mom said when others made mistakes. But this was their teacher and here she was mis-pronouncing the word that was a main part of the lesson.  Instead of pronouncing it “kom-pruh-myze” as Mike had heard it pronounced, she was just saying the word “promise” with a “com” in front of it, like “kom-prom-iss”.

 

Mike wanted to find a way to correct her, but Mrs. Stavros already didn’t like him.  Mrs. Stavros had something in common with most of Mike’s teachers to date.  Most of them also taught Nancy, too.  This meant Mike was constantly compared to Nancy and seemed to always come up short.  Nancy was **_so_** smart and **_so_** polite and **_so_** sweet.  So Mike resigned himself to being **_so_** dumb and **_so_** rude and **_so_** sour in comparison.  But if he bit the inside of his lip and concentrated on Aurora fighting with Nightcrawler, he could also stay **_so_** silent and not get in trouble again with Mrs. Stavros.

 

So Mike didn’t pay attention to the substance of the question Mrs. Stavros asked the class.  “Can anyone tell me what year the Missouri Com-promise was enacted?”

 

Mike saw her looking his way and for a panicked second thought she was going to call on him, or that she had seen the comic book.  He was relieved when she said, “Yes, Dustin,” and called on the new kid who sat to his left.  Mike looked over at the new kid, who lowered his raised hand and said, “I actually think that word is pronounced ‘compromise’ not ‘com-promise’ isn’t it?”

 

Mike held his breath and looked up to see how Mrs. Stavros would react.  She paused briefly before she said, “Very good Dustin, I’m surprised the rest of the class didn’t catch that.”

 

Mike rolled his eyes.  She was trying to play it off like she was just testing them, but he was pretty sure she hadn’t planned anything of the sort.  He felt he was proven right about this when she followed this up with an attempt to show up the kid who had corrected her.  She asked, “But did you actually know the answer to the question I asked?”

 

Dustin didn’t hesitate.  “Yes.  1820.  It wasn’t a permanent solution though.  It was really just kicking the can down the road to the Civil War.”

 

“And where did you hear that?” asked Mrs. Stavros.

 

Dustin shrugged and said simply, “I read it in a book.”

 

Mike turned to stare at the new kid and gave him an appraising look.  The kid must have felt Mike’s eyes on him because he turned to look at Mike.  When he met Mike’s eyes, he gave Mike a smile so big it made his eyes squint partially shut.  Mike was so surprised by the suddenness and the intensity of the smile, he couldn’t help but smile back.

 

Mike noticed that the kid didn’t seem to have any of his front teeth, which was a little weird as Mike and his friends had all lost their front teeth ages ago.  But this kid, Dustin, kept his mouth mostly closed while smiling, so Mike couldn’t really be sure.

 

The lunch bell rang then, and Dustin moved quickly.  He grabbed his lunchbox out of his backpack and stood to go.  As he passed Mike he said, “Alpha Flight, huh?  Sasquatch is pretty cool, right?  Like an orange hairy Hulk.”  He adjusted the brim of his cap, and said, “Seeya!”

 

Then Dustin walked up the aisle.

 

Mike sat for a second, dumbfounded.  Then he lifted up the top of his desk just enough to slide the comic into its confines, and went to go catch up with Lucas and Will. 

 

            ---

 

Dustin Henderson scoured the common area looking for a place to sit.  The principal had told him that there were two lunch periods and that the later lunch period was for the upper grades, so it wasn’t a surprise to find the lunch room filled with a lot of older kids.

 

Dustin **_was_** surprised that this common area doubled as the lunch room and that the tables came out of the walls.  At his old school they had a dedicated lunch area with real tables and chairs with backs.  This school had weird long lunch tables that came out of the walls.  It looked like they sort of unfolded and pulled out from a niche in the walls.  They looked like the longest picnic tables known to man, with long benches to sit on, and no chairs or seat backs.

 

Dustin clutched his lunch box to his side, and observed the swirling chaos around him.  He looked for patterns so he could figure out where it would be best to sit.  It was clear right away that the outside seats - the ones furthest from the wall, where the tables on each side were closest to meeting in the middle - were the **_prime_** seats.  This is the place where the recognizably “cool” and “popular” kids were sitting.  You could always tell who they were.  It wasn’t that different from his old school.  A gaggle of girls in expensive looking designer clothes were laughing at the end of one table.  A troop of very large and athletic looking boys were lounging at the end of the next.  None of them looked like they had ever felt as nervous and anxious as Dustin felt at that moment.

 

_Not even for one second in their perfect beautiful lives_ , Dustin thought.

 

Dustin guessed that the closer you were to the weird gap where the table folded into the wall, the further you were from the Hawkins elite.  Maybe it was for the obvious reason that by being at the end of the table you were more in the middle of the action and able to see and be seen. 

 

Dustin smiled to himself, _But maybe it’s for safety reasons.  Maybe the people closest to the fold are the most likely to be crushed to death in the event of any natural disaster like a tornado or earthquake._

 

Dustin wondered if he should have asked someone where to sit, but he had rushed out of the fourth grade room too fast to think about it.  He wanted to avoid getting caught by Mrs. Stavros, in case she was going to ask him why he hadn’t mentioned his condition in his little speech to the class.  Dustin had listened to his Mom explain it to the principal and had heard the principal mention it briefly to Mrs. Stavros.  The conclusion of all the adults was that Dustin should just mention it in his introduction and get it “out of the way.”

 

But Dustin had never agreed to do that.  And when the time came he realized that he didn’t really **_want_** to.  So he didn’t. 

 

It’s not that he couldn’t speak intelligently about it, he had read tons about his condition and had a whole spiel about it memorized since he was six.

 

_Cleidocranial dysplasia, also known as CCD.  It’s a genetic disorder, and no, you can’t catch it.  It means my skull and my teeth develop differently and that I don’t have any collarbones._

 

Then he would normally pause for a demonstration to illustrate the last point, which meant pulling his shoulders forward to touch in front of his chest, which he could only do because of the absence of collarbones.  Kids liked the demonstration, Dustin knew from experience, but adults often winced like he’d pinched them.

 

At his old school everyone knew.  They had known even before he had missed a bunch of school for oral surgeries and extractions.  But they had a chance to get to know him before they knew about his **_condition_**.  And Dustin wanted the kids at **_this_** school to get to know him first too.  He didn’t want the first thing these kids heard about him to be about his CCD.  So, for now he would avoid being alone with Mrs. Stavros so she couldn’t ask him about it. 

 

He would figure out what to tell his Mom later.  Because she **_would_** ask him about it.  For sure.  She would expect him to recount his whole day, but especially how people had reacted to him.  She would expect him to tell her if anyone asked rude questions or made fun of his lisp.  But in order to decide whether or not to lie to his Mom – and he never really lied to her – he had to get **_through_** the day first. 

 

_And that requires sustenance_.

 

So he brought his focus back to the issue at hand, deciding where to sit so he could eat his lunch in peace.  He ended up choosing the table furthest away from the little kitchen line, where kids were lined up to get hot lunch or milk, and closest to the glass walled office.  He chose that table because he could see other fourth graders already sitting there.  He decided to sit with his back to the office so he could watch kids file into the lunch room.  And he opted to sit fairly close to the wall, since if his conclusions were correct, he would be less likely to have to move because he was sitting in someone’s regular seat.

 

He popped open his lunchbox and studied the offerings.  He had a couple sandwiches, a banana, some chips and some cookies, along with his thermos.  He chose the ham and cheese sandwich first, leaving the PB&J for later.  As he ate, he occupied himself with people watching and coming up with nicknames to help him remember people by when he learned their real names later. 

 

This was a technique he used to help him remember people’s names.  It was easy with some adults because you could call them by their title or their profession and they never minded.  That was how he got away with not learning the names of all the doctors and dentists and orthodontists he saw.  You could call them all doctor and they all liked it, especially the dentists who weren’t **_real_** doctors.  He used it often with nurses and teachers too, and it never really got him in trouble.  But his Mom always said if he could manage to remember the names of all the characters in his comics or on the shows they watched, he should take care to learn the names of the people around him, so he always tried to do this.

 

He saw one girl from Mrs. Stavros’s class round the corner.  She was brown bagging it, and she bypassed the lunch line entirely and moved towards his outer table.  She was wearing a banana clip in her blonde hair, which gave her a weird elevated pony tail in the back.  As Banana Clip came towards the table, Dustin thought she would sit near him, but in the end she sat closer to the end of the table with some other girls.

 

The next person he spotted from his class was the black kid.  There weren’t many minorities in Dustin’s last school, and there weren’t a ton here in Hawkins either from what Dustin could tell.  Black Kid was with the kid Dustin sat next to and another boy.  The kid Dustin sat next to in class was already called “Sweater Collar” in Dustin’s mind. 

 

The black-haired kid who’d been reading the X-Men comic was dressed in a way Dustin was sometimes forced to dress on special occasions.  And Dustin felt like he normally put up a pretty good fight in order to avoid being forced to dress like that.  Sweater Collar was not only wearing a sweater, but had a collared shirt on underneath with the collar peeking perfectly out.  To Dustin he looked like the guy his Mom went to at H&R Block to get their taxes done.  But in miniature form. 

 

The third kid they were with Dustin didn’t recognize from the class.  He was smaller and his long underwear shirt cuffs peeked out of the sleeves of his flannel shirt.  He had light brown hair in what could only be described as a bowl-cut.

 

Black Kid, Sweater Collar, and Bowl-Cut were all talking together for a moment.  Dustin kept watching them because Sweater Collar had been reading comics, and Dustin had a big collection of comics, so he thought Sweater Collar might be someone he could talk to.  Then Bowl-Cut handed something to Black Kid, and moved away from the other two, while Sweater Collar and Black Kid joined the lunch line.  They moved past the hot lunch side of the line and moved up to the place you could buy milk.

 

Dustin watched as Black Kid got two milks and Sweater Collar got one.  When the lunch lady handed some change back to Sweater Collar, he absently handed the change to Black Kid.  Sweater Collar did this automatically it seemed, he didn’t even stop speaking to do it.  This was odd behavior to Dustin, and he was so busy watching Black Kid look over the coins and hand them back to Sweater Collar, and so busy wondering what this ritual was, he didn’t realize he had lost track of Bowl-Cut entirely.  Until Bowl-Cut stopped right in front of him and said something.

 

“What?” asked Dustin dragging his mind back to the table.

 

Bowl-Cut half-smiled at him and said, “I just asked if we could sit here.”  He gestured to the part of the bench seat directly opposite Dustin.

 

Dustin gave Bowl-Cut his best smile and said, “Sure.  Have a seat.”

 

Bowl-Cut sat down and placed his brown bag lunch on the table in front of him.  “Your name’s Dustin, right?  I’m in class with you.  My name’s Will.”

 

_Bowl-Cut equals Will.  Bowl-Cut equals Will._

Dustin said, “Who’s ‘we’?  You mean . . .” Dustin trailed off before he accidentally said “Black Kid” or “Sweater Collar” out loud.  “You mean your friends?”

 

“Exactly.  We wanted to talk to you.”

 

Dustin figured he knew what they wanted to talk to him about.  His lisp, or his lack of teeth, or something about him which would lead to him discussing his CCD.  Dustin was used to rude and forward questions from others.  So much so, that he found himself asking other people rude and forward questions himself sometimes.  It seemed normal to Dustin.  If you had something different about you it was open season for every Tom, Dick and Banana Clip to ask you about it.  Dustin mentally prepared himself for the questions he dreaded.

 

Black Kid and Sweater Collar came up and sat down on either side of Will.  Black Kid handed one of the milks over to Will and all three opened their lunch sacks.  Dustin noted with interest that none of them had lunch boxes like he did and made a mental note to ask about this later, if he had the chance to.

 

The way they were all sitting across from him, three against one, made Dustin uneasy.  It reminded him of scenes on TV when someone sat down for a job interview before a panel of people.  Or worse, like the way the group of doctors and orthodontists sat across from him and Mom to explain the “next step in the process”.   The next step was usually pretty painful for Dustin and also, at least according to his Mom, expensive. 

 

Dustin tried to ease his nerves and put his best foot forward.  He gave them a little salute off his cap and said, “Nice to meet you gentlemen.  Dustin Henderson at your service.”

 

Black Kid tipped his head to one side and Sweater Collar stopped futzing with his sack lunch to look at Dustin.  Neither of them jumped in to politely provide their names in return as Dustin had hoped they would.

 

But Will threw a life-line and said, “Dustin, these are my friends, Lucas and Mike.”

 

When Will said this he used one hand to point to Lucas, and then crossed his other hand to point to Mike so he had his arms crossed and was pointing to both of them at once.  To Dustin he looked just like the Scarecrow from _The Wizard of Oz_.

 

_Some people do go both ways_ , Dustin recalled the Scarecrow saying in the movie. 

 

He solidified their names in his mind.  _Black Kid equals Lucas and Sweater Collar equals Mike_.

 

Dustin gave another little wave while his mind was otherwise occupied with movie quotes and memorizing their names.

 

Lucas started in.  “Look, we wanted to ask you a question.”

 

Dustin smiled, “Sure, if I can ask you guys some in return.”

 

Lucas frowned, he was clearly not expecting conditions or a negotiation.  But Dustin noticed that Mike perked up at the idea of turning this into a game of sorts.

 

Mike jumped in before Lucas could respond. “Ok.  Fair trade.  But us first.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Mike continued, “So how did you know to correct Mrs. Stavros back there?”

 

Lucas immediately interrupted.  “Well not **_how_** did you know, we all know how to pronounce ‘compromise’, we’re not second graders.  But more like, how did you have the stones to correct her?  On your first day?”

 

Dustin was surprised by the question.  He didn’t really think of himself as being bold, so he really thought about this for a second.  He finally answered, “It’s simple.  There’s just a right answer and a wrong answer.  I was just passing her little test.”

 

Lucas shook his head.  “It wasn’t a test man, she’s just not that great of a teacher.”

 

Dustin got nervous then.  Did the teacher really think he was correcting her -  that the new kid with CCD was just a little know-it-all?  But he hadn’t said it to show her up, so he pushed back against the other three.  “Even if that’s true, then I was helping her out,” he shrugged.  “There’s still a right answer.  And it’s better for all of us to know it.”

 

Will smiled at him and Lucas nodded along, as if he was agreeing.

 

“My turn,” said Dustin.  “Why don’t any of you guys have a lunch box?  Should I not bring mine?”

 

Will smiled reassuringly.  “It’s not that.  After lunch we go right to recess and the kids with lunch boxes either have to go back to their cubbys to store them, or carry them out onto the playground.  It’s just easier to throw everything away and head right to recess.  But Mike has a lunchbox, he just doesn’t bring it anymore.”

 

Mike gave Will a look like he had just revealed a state secret to an enemy spy, and Dustin got the impression Mike was the most resistant to new people.  Or at least that he didn’t like Dustin so far.

 

_But few can resist my charms_ , thought Dustin.  He said, “Your turn.”

 

Will followed up with a softball of a question.  “What’s on your lunchbox?”

 

Dustin grinned stupidly and flipped it over, dumping his food onto the table.  He showed one side of the lunchbox which was a group shot of the Muppets from _The Muppet Show_.  Then he flipped it to the back side which was a solo shot of Fozzie Bear.  Dustin quoted, “Wakka wakka wakka.”

 

Will giggled.

 

Mike asked, “So you like _The Muppet Show_?”

 

Dustin wagged his finger at Mike.  “I answered your question.  My turn now.  So what’s the Hawkins mascot?”

 

Lucas took this one.  “The High School teams are called the Tigers.  All the younger kids’ teams are called the Cubs.”

 

“Nice,” Dustin nodded in approval.  “My old town’s teams were called the Galloping Ghosts.  They even had a picture of a Galloping Ghost painted on the water tower.”

 

Will said, “That sounds cool.”

 

“Yeah, you’d think so,” Dustin said, shaking his head, “But to be honest, the painting looked more like a constipated Shmoo.”

 

Will laughed and even Lucas smiled, but Mike remained thoughtful.  Mike raised his eyebrow and spoke, “So, can I ask my question now?”

 

“Yes.  But that was it,” Dustin continued before Mike could speak again.  “That **_was_** a question.  Y’know, for the record.  But suggestion for you, constructive criticism.  If you ever get a Genie out of a bottle and get three wishes, you should call me because I think you might screw it up.”

 

Lucas laughed this time, and Will tried to cover his giggles by focusing on his lunch.

 

“ ** _Those_** were statements.  **_My_** next question is, how is the hot lunch at this school?”

 

“It’s only okay,” said Mike slowly.

 

Dustin saw a glint in Mike’s eye, and noticed Mike caught on immediately to the idea of making his answers short or vague to thwart Dustin’s little game.  So without speaking Dustin turned to look at the other two.  They were more than willing to expand on this.

 

“C’mon, it’s pretty good,” said Will.  “Some kids get it every day.”

 

Lucas added, “And we get it sometimes too.  Taco days are really popular and usually on Fridays they have Pizza.”

 

Mike relented then, wanting to display his knowledge about the school more than he wanted to beat Dustin at the question game.  He said, “And for kids who forgot their lunch or didn’t bring money for hot lunch –“

 

Lucas interrupted, “Or whose lunches were stolen or stepped on by the older kids.”

 

Will shot Lucas a look which Dustin interpreted to mean, “Don’t talk about our dirty laundry in front of the new kid.”

 

Mike continued.  “Anyway, the office,” he gestured behind where Dustin sat, “has free peanut butter sandwiches for kids that don’t have a lunch - for **_whatever_** reason.”

 

Dustin decided to press now to see if they would cut him off like he did to them.  He asked, “Why don’t they just give the kid a hot lunch?”

 

Lucas nodded knowingly.  “My Dad says that would just encourage parents not to ever pay for hot lunch if you could get it for free anyway.”

 

They didn’t say anything, so Dustin pressed on, “So what if I just finished my lunch right now and still wanted a sandwich, could I just go in there and ask for one?”

 

“Probably,” shrugged Mike. 

 

“What kind of peanut butter is it?” 

 

Will’s forehead wrinkled in thought.  “Umm, Creamy, I think?”

 

“No, I mean what **_brand_** ,” asked Dustin. 

 

“It’s generic,” said Lucas. 

 

Dustin made a face.  They ate in silence for a time.  Dustin had taken full advantage and asked a lot of questions, so he was willing to wait for them to ask the next one.

 

Eventually, Mike supplied it.  “So you clearly know something about comics.  **_Statement_**.  The question is, are you a Marvel guy or a DC guy?”

 

“I like both.  I have tons of comics if you want to trade some.  I’m always looking for something new to read.  I’ll even read _Archie_ and _Little Lulu_.  I’ll read pretty much anything.”

 

“Anything?” asked Lucas.

 

“Sure,” Dustin explained around a mouthful of potato chips.  “My Mom already took me to get my library card this weekend.  Your library is pretty good, but really restrictive on the amount of books kids can check out.  I mean seriously?  I can read five books in like a day.”

 

Then they were all talking at once.  Dustin missed the exact words, but the gist of it was that Will was interested in trading some comics with him, Lucas defended DC as the better comics universe, and Mike was doubtful that he could read five books in a day.

 

Dustin had the job-interview-panel-of-doctors-overwhelmed-by-three-people feeling again, and tried to find a way to express it without coming off like a wimp.  He said, “Y’know with all of you,” he gestured to the other side of the table, “over there, this is starting to feel more and more like a police interrogation on one of those cop shows my Mom loves.”

 

The corners of Mike’s mouth turned up.

 

_He’s almost ready to smile_ , thought Dustin.

 

“I keep half expecting Lucas to turn a bright light on me and call me scumbag or something.”

 

“Me?” protested Lucas.

 

“Yeah, Will is definitely the ‘Good Cop’ in this scenario, and you are for sure the ‘Bad Cop’ trying to get me to break.”

 

“And what am I then?” asked Mike, sounding genuinely interested.

 

“You’re like,” Dustin paused and tilted his head to one side, considering, “You’re like the grizzled desk sergeant who’s **_always_** grumpy and always gets annoyed with these two rookies.”  Dustin gestured at Will and Lucas, “And you’re always sick and tired of putting up with their bullshit.”

 

Mike smiled then.  He looked impressed either with the story or the swearing, Dustin couldn’t tell which.  Mike nodded, “That has the ring of truth.”  To the other two he said, “This scumbag knows what he’s talking about.”

 

Will smiled at Dustin and said apologetically, “Sorry if it felt like we were ganging up on you.  Mike said you were cool and knew about the X-Men.  And Lucas liked your hat.”

 

Dustin flushed self-consciously then.  He had pegged Will right.  Will **_was_** the good cop for sure.  “What about you, Good Cop?”

 

Will turned off his apologetic tone, like he wasn’t going to apologize for even a **_second_** for being the Good Cop.  He shrugged, “I just didn’t want you to have to eat alone on your first day.”

 

Dustin felt bad then.  He was playing a weird word game with them and bragging about reading fast, and swearing to impress, and they hadn’t even asked him about his lisp or his teeth, or anything.

 

So he smiled at Will and said softly, “Thanks.  I owe you one.”

 

Then he had an idea.  Dustin had inhaled his lunch during their conversation, but he still had four Chips Ahoy cookies in a little baggie for dessert.  He said, “My Mom packed me four Chips Ahoys, if you guys want one?” 

 

Dustin offered one directly to Will first, as he was the Good Cop and the nicest one and was sitting directly across from Dustin.

 

Will took the cookie and said, “That was nice of your Mom to pack you extra cookies to share.” 

 

Dustin glanced at Will’s meager looking lunch and decided not to tell him that his Mom normally packed him this many cookies and he could’ve eaten them easily himself.  Instead he simply offered a cookie in turn to Lucas and then Mike.

 

Lucas took a bite of his cookie and turned sideways to face Mike, “So Sarge, can we end this interrogation?”

 

“Sure,” nodded Mike.

 

Then they both put out their fists and Will counted off.  “One, two, three shoot.”

 

For a minute Dustin didn’t know what was happening.  He had seen the game rock - paper - scissors of course, but the interaction of the trio took some thinking.  It was clear that there was never any question that Will would go sit with the stranger.  Only Mike and Lucas were engaged in the rock - paper - scissors contest.  Dustin wondered if the winner or the loser would have to sit with him.

 

Lucas showed rock.  Mike showed Paper.

 

Lucas shoved the rest of his cookie in his mouth and gathered up his lunch and milk and got up to come join Dustin on the other side of the table.

 

_Loser sits with the new kid, it seems_.

 

As Lucas came over to join him, Will and Mike moved over so that Mike was sitting directly in front of Dustin and Will was directly across from the empty space to Dustin’s left.  This was consistent with Dustin’s earlier theory, Lucas was going to sit further out from where the table entered the wall.  So even in this little group Lucas and Will were cooler than scumbag and Sweater Collar. 

 

Dustin would take that, for now. 

 

_This part of Indiana doesn’t get many earthquakes or tornados anyway, so Mike and I should be okay._

 

When Lucas joined him, he gave Dustin’s shoulder a little punch and said, “Dude, thanks for the cookie, but about this _Little Lulu_ confession of yours . . . .”

 

And as they sat together, they talked and interrupted and laughed their way through the rest of the lunch period.  And as they talked, Dustin’s anxiety from earlier disappeared slowly but surely, and he found himself hoping that he had found some new friends.

 

            ---

 

Dustin watched as the volleyball rolled and bounced right up to the edge of the parachute but didn’t come off.  Through the frenzied yanking and flipping motions of the girls closest to the volleyball, the parachute reared up, flinging the volleyball back towards the middle.

 

Dustin had observed enough of this parachute volleyball game to get the gist of it.  The girls and boys were all holding onto the parachute and had divided into two teams.  Both sides tried to roll and bounce the volleyball off the other side of the parachute to score a point against the other team.  Both sides made sure the volleyball didn’t drop into the hole in the middle of the parachute though, so it seemed clear to Dustin you couldn’t score a point that way.

 

After lunch, the boys had led Dustin to the small gym.  Normally they would go outside for recess, even during the winter months.  But since the snow and the cold were too severe, they had indoor recess instead.  Dustin still carried his metal Muppets lunchbox.  After what the others had said, he had considered taking the lunchbox back to his cubby, but decided against it.  He figured it was safer to stay with the group as long as possible.  He wasn’t going to give them an obvious chance to ditch him.

 

The gym itself was packed with kids and overheated.  Dustin unzipped his sweatshirt immediately and adjusted his cap on his mop of hair.  Everything seemed really frenzied and high-pitched and shrill.  It was the horrible sound of too many kids being cooped up inside and being packed in too tight.

 

Dustin followed the other three as they walked along the sidelines of the court to an open space in one corner.  The court itself was fully occupied.  The half of the court they carefully skirted was being using by the big group of older boys to play half-court basketball.

 

On the other half of the court, different groups had staked out small sections for their preferred activities.  There was one group, mainly fourth graders, but some older kids too, playing with the parachute and the volleyball.  Others had a tetherball set up and they were pounding it back and forth with vicious force.  And there were a bunch of girls skipping rope, either alone or in groups.

 

A bunch of kids sat in the bleachers, some talking, some reading, some listlessly watching the action.  Some even appeared to be doing homework.  The rest of the kids did what Dustin and his companions were doing, standing or running around along the sidelines of the court, not really doing anything in particular.  Just milling about, too restless to sit down again already.

 

Dustin turned his attention back to the parachute volleyball game.  One side whipped the parachute up with enough force to send the volleyball sailing over to the other side of the parachute where it bounced once and then bounced right off.  As one team celebrated their scoring play and one of the kids on the other team chased down the volleyball, Dustin took advantage of the break in the action.  He sidled up to Lucas and tapped him on the shoulder.

 

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

 

Lucas turned away from watching the court to face Dustin, “Sure.”

 

“Before, when you guys were getting your milk, why did Mike hand his change over to you?  Does he like, owe you money or something?”

 

Lucas smiled and shook his head.  “Naw, man.  Mike just knows I collect coins.  Whenever he gets change for something he gives me the change so I can look and see if there’s some coin I still need.”

 

“And if there is one he just gives it to you?” asked Dustin, a little surprised.

 

Lucas shook his head again.  “No way.  He doesn’t just **_give_** me money.  But since all he cares about is spending it, he’ll give me the coins I **_do_** want for coins I don’t need.  Fair trade.”

 

Dustin nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out fifty-three cents in change.  He held it out to Lucas and asked, “Do you need any of these?”

 

Lucas immediately went for the three pennies and turned them over to check the dates.  Two he dismissed quickly, but the third he held onto and took a closer look.   “This one is really shiny for being from 1959.  Maybe it hasn’t circulated much.”

 

Dustin smiled. “It just looks like that because I put it in my rock tumbler.  It was pretty dirty before.”

 

“Why would you put it in your rock tumbler?”

 

Dustin shrugged.  “Just to see what would happen.  It didn’t make the rocks come out any different though.  But all the coins were shinier.”

 

Lucas nodded.  “Well I wouldn’t do that with really old coins, but to shine up newer ones I bet it’s okay.”  Lucas gave him a questioning look.  “You’re really okay with trading?  Cause I’ll take this one,” he said, holding up the shiny 1959 penny.

 

“Sure.”

 

Lucas smiled and reached into his own pocket to pull out some pennies.  He grabbed one, checked it, and handed it over to Dustin.

 

“Now that I know you collect rocks, when I’m looking at rocks I’ll see if I can find something interesting for you.”

 

Dustin re-pocketed his change.  “Do you collect rocks too?”

 

“No.  But I look at rocks a lot if they’re the right size.  Y’know.  For ammo.”

 

“Ammo?”

 

“Yeah, for my Wrist Rocket.  You need the right shape and size for good distance and **_punch_**.”

 

Dustin couldn’t imagine thinking of rocks as ammo.  He had started looking for arrowheads when they lived in Wisconsin, but he never found any.  But he always found cool rocks though.  The idea of flinging away the treasured rocks he worked so hard to find and make shine was crazy to him.  But Dustin was still intrigued regarding the slingshot.

 

“What do you shoot at?”

 

“Cans mostly.  Trees.  Sometimes mailboxes,” Lucas confessed.  Then he added quickly, “My Dad says I should never aim it at a living thing because I could really hurt it or even kill it.  It’s that powerful.  You could hunt with it.”

 

Dustin was familiar with hunting seasons.  In Wisconsin, he had heard of people hunting with bows or rifles, but not with a slingshot.  Dustin’s Mom didn’t believe in hunting and it didn’t really appeal to Dustin either.  But he chose his words carefully in case all the kids around here liked to hunt.  He asked neutrally, “Do you guys hunt a lot?”

 

“No.  My Dad was in the service and he says he doesn’t really understand the appeal to go around playing with guns.  I guess after some of the things he saw, that sort of thing doesn’t interest him.  But Will’s Dad goes hunting, and he takes Will’s brother with him sometimes.  I figure this year will be the year Will gets to go too. “

 

“And Mike’s Dad?”

 

Lucas laughed.  “The only thing Mr. Wheeler hunts for is the chair closest to the television.  And he always finds it.”

 

Mike and Will had been talking quietly a little ways away, but now they moved closer to join Dustin and Lucas.  Dustin presumed they had heard their own names and got interested.

 

Will asked, “What are you guys talking about?”

 

Dustin and Lucas both shrugged and said, “Rocks,” and “Coins,” respectively.

 

Mike looked disappointed.  “Oh.”  To Lucas he said, “I thought you were telling him about the comms.”

 

“The what?”

 

Lucas explained.  “We both got a pair of walkie-talkies for Christmas.”

 

Will commented, “It’s all they’ve been talking about ever since.”

 

Mike turned defensive.  “Ok, well it’s pretty amazing to be able to talk to each other instantaneously without any wires . . . “

 

Dustin couldn’t help interrupting then, “Well the speed of light isn’t really instantaneous, but I guess it’s fast enough to feel that way to us.”

 

“How do you know about this stuff?” demanded Lucas.

 

Dustin shrugged.  “I read it in a book.”

 

The trio kept talking about the comms, but Dustin was distracted.  The older boys’ basketball had bounced away from them and rolled to a stop near the wall on the other side of Mike and Will.  A larger boy with dark hair ran over to get the ball and when the boy looked over at Dustin, Dustin’s automatic response was to smile at him. 

 

That was a mistake.  The boy already had an irritated look on his face and it turned into a full blown scowl when he took in Dustin and Dustin’s companions.  The boy turned away from the basketball and started to move towards them. 

 

Mike and Will still had their backs to the boy.  So Dustin said, “Uh, hey guys,” and nodded in the direction the boy was coming from.

 

All of the boys turned to look.  Dustin heard Lucas mutter the word “Troy” under his breath, like it was a curse word you didn’t want to be caught saying out loud.

 

Both Mike and Will looked instantly scared.  So Dustin took that as a cue and backed up a step.  Mike reacted automatically as well, but not in the way Dustin expected.  In an action that seemed as automatic and unthinking as giving his change to Lucas in the lunch line, Mike turned slightly and moved towards the boy.  Dustin didn’t understand this impulse at all.  Dustin’s instinct in this type of situation was to run, **_not_** to jump in front of the predator.  But Mike’s movement put him closer to Troy, not further away. 

 

It took Dustin a moment longer to understand that Mike’s move had also accomplished something else.  Mike had moved so that he was blocking Will, and incidentally Dustin as well, from the approaching boy’s line of sight.  As Mike turned to face Troy, his mouth set in a grim down-turned arc and he looked resigned.  Mike shot a quick look back at Lucas, apparently urging him to stay put.

 

“Hey Frog-Face!” the boy exclaimed loudly as he walked up to Mike and unceremoniously punched him hard on the upper arm.

 

Dustin was familiar with the technique.  They called it “giving dead arms” at his old school.  He was also intimately acquainted with the “purple nurple” and the “wet willie”.

 

Dustin couldn’t tell if Mike’s reaction was genuine or exaggerated for effect, but it **_was_** immediate.  He hunched over a bit and his side profile showed that his face grimaced in pain.  He grabbed at the arm with his other hand and held it dangling and swaying, apparently useless, at his side.

 

“Tell your new friend to mind his own business, you got me?”  Then Troy took a couple steps away and leaned over to get the basketball.  Once he stood with it, he looked over at his friends and shot them a look that said, “Watch this!”  Then he held the ball out as if he was going to throw it to – or at – Mike.  Then Troy pumped his arms but didn’t release the ball from his grip. 

 

It got the desired response, as Mike visibly flinched away.

 

Troy laughed.  “You are **_such_** a pussy, Wheeler.”

 

As Troy sprinted back to his friends and their game, Dustin heard some of them laughing too.

 

Mike turned back to his friends, his face red with anger and shame.

 

Nobody said anything, and Dustin didn’t know them well enough to know how they reacted to this type of thing.  Did they commiserate about it, plan revenge, or simply never speak of it at all?  He knew what he wanted to say, so he said it and hoped it would help.

 

He stepped a little closer to Mike and said softly, “So, that guy’s a real shit-stain huh?”

 

Lucas and Will laughed, but softly.  Dustin watched Mike’s face relax.  Mike smiled weakly and quipped, “Who Troy?  He’s actually part of the official Hawkins Welcome Wagon. I’m sorry I intercepted your official ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ message.”  He massaged his arm lightly, “ ** _Really_** sorry.”

 

“Maybe this is a good time to warn you though,” interjected Will.

 

“About **_that_** guy?  Consider me warned.”

 

“No,” Will shook his head.  “That maybe we’re not the coolest kids you could be hanging out with.  Hanging out with us may make you more of a target for the Troys of the world.”

 

Dustin shrugged, “I dunno, you seem pretty cool to me.”

 

Lucas looked at him dubiously.  “Really?”

 

“Sure” smiled Dustin.  “Are there a bunch of other kids at this school that read comics and collect coins and have slingshots and walkie-talkies?”

 

Lucas favored him with a nod, and Will looked down at his shoes, pleased.

 

Mike just looked at him and rubbed his arm, so Dustin addressed him directly. “No.  I’m asking.  Are there?  Because if there are, can you point them out to me?”

 

Mike did smile then, and it was the warmest smile he had given so far.  “No,” Mike said thoughtfully, “I think we’re about it in those departments.”

 

Lucas moved in closer to Dustin and clapped him on the back.  “We’re also the smartest kids in this school.”

 

Dustin shot him a deadpan look.  “I’m not sure the bar is very high on that one.  I’m pretty sure no one in the whole fourth grade, including the teacher, knew how to pronounce ‘compromise’ until I came to town.”

 

Lucas gave him a little shove.

 

“Besides, can you guys keep a secret?”

 

The trio all nodded.

 

“I’m going to be a target anyway.  For guys like that.  I have a **_condition_**.”

 

They all threw sideways glances at one another, and Dustin knew in that moment that they had noticed something but had chosen not to say anything.

 

So Dustin pressed on.  “I have Cleidocranial dysplasia.  It’s something you’re born with and don’t worry, you can’t catch it or anything.”

 

“What does it do?” asked Will quietly.

 

“Well, it means that my teeth don’t do what they should.  Like my baby teeth never wanted to fall out so I had to have some of them yanked out.  And now my adult teeth aren’t coming in like they should.”  He opened his mouth to show them.  “So you may have noticed the missing teeth.”

 

Will and Lucas were shaking their heads as if saying “no” but Mike nodded along. 

 

“And that’s why you lisp?” Mike asked.

 

“You noticed that, did you?” 

 

Lucas and Will again tried to deny this, but Mike was nodding again.

 

Mike said, “Yes.  And some constructive criticism.  When you have a lisp you may want to avoid words like ‘constructive criticism’.”

 

Dustin chuffed a small laugh, “I see what you did there.” 

 

Mike only raised his eyebrows and tipped his head to one side in response.

 

“Also I was born without any collarbones.”

 

They all looked confused at that, so Dustin reached out to Will and touched Will’s chest through his flannel shirt.  “These bones.”

 

“Does it hurt?” asked Lucas.

 

“No,” answered Dustin, “But it does mean I can do something most people can’t do.”

 

“What?” asked Mike.

 

“Block me from view and I’ll show you.  But you guys said you can keep a secret.  Remember that.”

 

They gathered around him in a semi-circle to block him as much as they could from the other kids.  Then he did his trick of bringing his shoulders together in the front.  He smiled to himself at their reaction.

 

“Cool.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“And that doesn’t hurt?”

 

Dustin shook his head.  “Nah.  So I’m not really worried about other things that might make me a target.  I’ve already got all this,” he said, gesturing to all of himself.  “Besides, I had a guy at my old school that picked on me.”

 

“What did he do?” asked Will.

 

“He used to follow me on my walk home and punch me in the back.”

 

“I’m sorry,” said Will.

 

Dustin shrugged.  “That’s okay.  One day I put my backpack on with my lunch box inside it and he punched that and hurt his hand.”

 

 “Nice,” Lucas said, clearly impressed.

 

“Yeah, he got me good the next day, but I felt pretty pleased with myself for a night at least.”

 

Mike nodded.  “So it’s not just for the love of the Muppets,” he said, gesturing to the lunchbox Dustin was still holding.  “It’s for self-defense.”

 

Dustin grinned, “Well, it’s mostly for the love of the Muppets.  I mean have you **_seen_** that show?  It’s one of my favorites.”

 

“We don’t always get a lot of TV time,” complained Mike.

 

Dustin felt offended **_for_** them, “Seriously?”

 

Lucas nodded.  “I mean, we get Saturday mornings, usually.”

 

“And the time from after school until dinner,” added Will.  “There are some good things on then.”

 

“But we only have one TV,” continued Mike, “And normally after dinner my Dad gets to pick what’s on TV.  And mostly he doesn’t let me or Nancy watch whatever he picks.”

 

“That sucks,” observed Dustin.  “I guess I’m lucky.  My Mom lets me watch TV with her all the time.  And she likes _The Muppet Show_ too, so we always watch it.”

 

Dustin didn’t explain that he was usually stuck watching whatever his Mom wanted to watch.  That meant he watched her cop shows with her, but also knew all the characters on _Little House on the Prairie_ and _The Waltons_ like they were family.  He didn’t really think his familiarity with John-Boy or Nellie Oleson would win him any points.  But he knew something that probably would.

 

“Did you guys hear that Luke and Chewie and 3PO are going to be on _The Muppet Show_?”

 

“No way!” 

 

“Yes way!  I saw the ad for it.” 

 

Mike sighed dramatically.  “My Dad will never let me watch it.  My only hope is he falls asleep so I can change the channel or something.”

 

“Well, if you don’t mind watching it with my Mom, I bet you guys could come over to my house to watch it.  I mean, if you want to.”

 

They all seemed enthused about this idea and started talking at once, and responded to each other in such a rush that Dustin could barely follow their conversation.  He just let their excitement wash over him.

 

“I’m sure my parents will let me.”

 

“It is a school night, though.”

 

“But this is a big deal.  This is _Star Wars_!”

 

“I mean, they’ll **_have_** to do a ‘Pigs in Space’ skit right?”

 

“Do you think they’re going to talk about the new movie on the show?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“I’ll bet there’s an ad for _Empire Strikes Back_ during one of the commercial breaks.”

 

“That would be so cool!”

 

“I cannot wait for that to come out.”

 

“But it seems so far away.”

 

“It’s only like four months from now or something.”

 

“How much time do you think will have passed between the first one and this one?”

 

“In the story? Like years probably.”

 

“Human years or Wookiee years?”

 

“Shut up Mike!”

 

“We all have to make a pact to go see it together!”

 

“Yes, opening night!”

 

“Deal!”

 

They stopped speaking and looked over at Dustin.

 

Lucas asked, “You in?  Opening night?  The most important movie of our lives?”

 

Dustin smiled.  “I’m in.”

 

The bell rang then, ending their excited back and forth.  Dustin waited for a second but none of them moved, so he didn’t either.  There seemed to be some unspoken agreement that they would let the older kids, and especially Troy, leave the gym first.  So Dustin stayed close to them.  He was in no hurry.

 

“So Dustin,” Mike asked, “Have you ever heard of Dungeons and Dragons?”

 

Dustin smiled.  “Sure.  My Aunt says it’s like devil worship or something and you can learn real spells and practice witchcraft.”

 

Lucas scowled at him.  “No way man.  It’s just a role playing game.  It’s not real.”

 

Dustin looked to make sure that the majority of the kids had left the gym.  Then he put on his best disappointed look and said, “Too bad.  I was hoping we could find some sort of spell to turn Troy into an actual pile of dung, to match his personality.”

 

They all laughed, which made Dustin glad.  Then the four of them started walking towards the double doors to exit the gym.

 

Lucas said to Mike, “Your parents wouldn’t buy it for you anyway.  You asked for Christmas and didn’t get it.”

 

“I know,” admitted Mike, sadly.  “But I got some money for Christmas from my Grandma, and they haven’t like **_forbidden_** me to buy D&D, they just won’t buy it for me.”

 

“Loophole,” nodded Dustin agreeing.

 

Will asked, “What’s a loophole?”

 

Dustin thought about that.  “It’s like a way to avoid a rule or a law.  It’s like a way out of what you’re expected to do.”

 

“Nice,” said Lucas.  “Now **_that_** should have been our word of the day.”

 

“Well I’m excited about D&D,” admitted Mike, “but it’s a lot of money, so I don’t want to spend all my Christmas money unless you guys are sure you’ll play it with me.”  Mike looked at them all hopefully.

 

Will instantly spoke up.  “I’m in.  I can bring my paper and crayons and help with the maps and things.”

 

Dustin offered, “I can take notes for us.  And I’m good at learning rules.  And figuring out the loopholes.”

 

“And I can kick ass,” added Lucas. 

 

Mike laughed.  “Okay, it’s settled.  Next time I’m downtown I’ll slip away and go pick it up.”

 

They neared the double doors leading back to the school proper.

 

“What are we going to tell Mrs. Stavros when we’re late?” Will wondered.

 

Mike had an answer all prepared.  “We’ll just tell her we were showing the new kid around and lost track of time.  She won’t do anything.  She likes you and Lucas.”

 

“If she asks you,” Lucas said to Dustin, “Just tell her we showed you the nurse’s office and the learning center and the bathrooms and the boiler room where we clap out the erasers.”

 

“Does that count as a loophole?”  Will asked.

 

Dustin shook his head, “That’s more of an outright lie.”  They looked worried for just a second, before Dustin continued, “But I’m up for that too.”

 

And as the four of them walked together through the double doors and back to class, something just clicked for Dustin.  For the first time since leaving Wisconsin, Dustin Henderson felt at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on this chapter and the next. Something that has always bugged me about the textual timeline of the show.
> 
> In S1E6 Dustin specifically says: “I didn't get here until the fourth grade.”
> 
> But in S1E1 the boys have this exchange.
> 
> Dustin: There's something wrong with your sister.  
> Mike: What are you talking about?   
> Dustin: She's got a stick up her butt.  
> Lucas: Yeah. It's because she's been dating that douchebag, Steve Harrington.  
> Dustin: Yeah, she's turning into a real jerk.  
> Mike: She's always been a real jerk.  
> Dustin: Nuh-uh, she used to be cool. Like that time she dressed up as an elf for our Elder tree campaign.  
> Mike: Four years ago! 
> 
> Since they are established to be in 7th grade at the time of 1983 / Season One, when Mike says that Nancy was involved in the Elder Tree Campaign “four years ago” that would put them in the 3rd grade. Not only is that a *little* young to be starting on D&D (I didn’t start until 4th Grade myself), it would have been before Dustin “got there.” My resolution to this is to chalk up Mike’s “four years ago” in S1E1 to exaggeration in the moment of ragging on Nancy. Therefore in this Chapter I had Dustin arrive during 4th grade, before they started D&D.
> 
> Why does any of this matter? Because the idea of Nancy dressing up to help them for one of their D&D campaigns was *such* an intriguing one, that my next two chapters are built around it.
> 
> So please come back next week for The Elder Tree Campaign: Part One.
> 
> And if you have any questions or feedback, please leave a comment. They really make my day!


	5. The Elder Tree Campaign: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys near the end of their D&D campaign.  
> Mike asks Nancy for a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the place I put chapter specific warnings that don't rise to the level of AO3's archive warnings:
> 
> Chapter Five warnings:  
> Explicit language and crude humor throughout.  
> Period accurate language not acceptable in today's world (potentially including sexist, racist, ableist, and/or homophobic language).  
> References to underage kids sneaking into R-rated movies and the early education on adult topics that can result.

Lucas Sinclair was the last to show up for D&D.  It was Friday night and they were all supposed to get together for D&D like fifteen minutes ago.  But Lucas got caught up with some chores his parents dumped on him, so even though he lived the closest to the Wheeler house, he was the last to arrive.

 

As he let himself in through the garage and headed over to the basement door, Lucas expected the guys - mainly Mike - to give him some grief about being late.  Mike treated these sessions pretty seriously, and Lucas suspected tonight might be the last session of the Elder Tree Campaign.  Mike had definitely been planning something big recently, and tonight might be it.

 

So, expecting a scolding and taking the stairs two at a time, Lucas was pleasantly surprised to see the guys were otherwise occupied.  They were huddled around a little cassette tape player and Dustin was playing some song Lucas had never heard before.  Lucas was **_less_** pleasantly surprised to hear a horrible sounding country song coming from the little speaker.  It was clear from the scratching and popping on the tape the song had been recorded from the radio.

 

Dustin snapped the cassette player off when he heard Lucas on the stairs.  “Lucas, get over here,” he shouted, excited.  “I got a great new song for The Album.  Let me rewind this.”

 

Lucas smiled as he threw his bag down and approached the table.  That explained why they were listening to that badly recorded country song.  It was for “The Album”.  “The Album” was an evolving shared joke between the boys that had spiraled somewhat out of control.  Lucas knew he shared some of the blame for this, but he felt the true culprits were either Dustin or the Wheeler kids.

 

This had started years ago when Barb and Nancy learned a song called “The Name Game” and taught it to Mike and his two highly verbal little friends.  Barb and Mike’s names were not fun because you had to “use the only rule that is contrary” with them, since their names started with “M” and “B.”  But Nancy’s name was perfect for the song.

 

>             Nancy Nancy Bo Bancy Banana Fanna fo Fancy Fee Fy Mo Mancy – Nancy!

 

It was fun because it was nonsense, but smack in the middle of the nonsense was a real word.  And Lucas definitely used to think Nancy was sort of fancy.

 

The problem had started when they did Lucas.

 

>             Lucas Lucas Bo Bucas Banana Fanna fo Fucas Fee Fy Mo Mucas – Lucas!

 

Nancy and Mike had immediately struck on the fact that putting Lucas’s name into “The Name Game” got them to mucus.  They laughed and laughed. 

 

Lucas did not.

 

Lucas tried to fix this, by pointing out that he didn’t pronounce his name Lyew-cuss, but Loo-cas, so the actual “Name Game” should be sung as Moo-cas, not Myew-cuss. 

 

This had **_not_** worked.  It just made them laugh harder and the nickname of Mucus had stuck for a while.

 

Eventually Lucas shed the nickname, mostly for good, by putting the word mucus into real songs instead.  He had tried it several times, but the time it really caught on was when he dropped it into the lyrics to “The Sound of Music.”

 

>             The hills are alive with the sound of mucus.

 

Then Will had jumped in with some fake sneezing and Mike made a grossly authentic “hocking a loogey” sound in place of the “ahh-ah-ah-ahs”.

 

Since then Mike, Will, and Lucas - but mostly Mike and Lucas - had a fun time replacing the words of famous songs with other words.  “Fart” was a popular one at first.  And any version of mucus like “booger” or “loogey” was good.  And “my butt” had definitely become a staple.

 

This had escalated since Dustin had arrived.  Lucas and Mike had definitely experimented with swear words prior to Dustin’s arrival, but always in private and never around school or their own homes.  Dustin blew this out of the water immediately.  Dustin said the filthiest things with the cheeriest of smiles.  Lucas was continually surprised by the things that came out of Dustin’s mouth, and by the fact he never seemed to get into trouble for any of it.

 

Dustin had also brought with him two more crucial elements that made their weird lyric game stage a comeback this year. 

 

The first was his love of a syndicated radio program called _Dr. Demento_.  Once Dustin understood they weren’t kidding about their restricted access to television, he had recommended his favorite radio show.  They all had better access to radios, so he introduced them all to the weird comedy and parody songs Dr. Demento played every week.  Mike really responded to the parody and story songs, and would often learn the weird songs by heart.  Lucas would often catch Mike humming the tune to “Tie me Kangaroo Down Sport,” or “One Eyed One Horned Flying Purple People Eater,” or “Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah,” or any of the other dozen or so songs he had become obsessed with.

 

The second thing Dustin brought with him was a shamelessness that was shocking, but liberating at the same time.  Dustin had no problem singing along with the radio or bursting into song in public.  He had a decent voice, but it wasn’t just that.  Lucas and Will both had okay voices, but they were too self-conscious to do much singing until Dustin came around.  But somehow all of them singing together made it easier.  And poking fun at the songs by swapping out the words made things less cheesy and more rebellious. 

 

_And it makes Mike laugh like a crazy person_ , Lucas thought.  _Which is fun to see no matter how we get there._

 

One of Lucas’s additions from last year had been with the Billy Joel song “My Life”.  Lucas’s version included a great butt drop in.

 

> I don’t care what you say anymore this is my butt.  Go ahead with your own butt leave mine alone.

 

And ending on the refrain:

 

> Keep it to yourself it’s my butt!

 

The other great innovation that Lucas came up with - which was the reason he knew he was partially to blame for the idea of “The Album”  - was to add “Mom,” “Mother,” and “Your Mom” to the list of the words to drop into other songs.  He knew this was a sore spot with Will, who didn’t come up with many ideas for their weird little game even before Moms were introduced.  But since “Your Mom” had become the most offensive, and therefore the most popular one to try, it was pretty clear Will didn’t approve of the way the game had been going lately. 

 

_Will’s a little uptight sometimes_.

 

There were constant variations on words they would swap in.  They tried it with virtually any song they heard, with varied success.  But some like the “Sound of Mucus” and “My Butt” went on a list Dustin was keeping in his little notebook.

 

Mike always said if they had any actual musical talent they could record the songs like the guy on Dr. Demento called “Weird” Al and get rich.  Mike kept brainstorming about this one rainy day when they were cooped up at Dustin’s.  Mike had proudly decided their album should be called “Your Mom, My Butt and Mucus”.

 

The cassette player made a click as the tape finished rewinding.

 

“I found it.  It’s called “On the Road Again” by Willie Nelson.  It’s **_awesome_**.”  Dustin beamed at Lucas. “This is one for The Album.”

 

“Yeah?” Lucas looked over at Mike, dubious.

 

Mike nodded. “Definitely.  It has a place for ‘your Mom’ **_and_** ‘mucus’.  Just listen.”

 

Dustin started the tape.  Lucas heard immediately where it was going after the first verse, and by the end he joined in singing their horrible, bastardized version.

 

> On your Mom again.
> 
> I Just can’t wait to get on your Mom again.
> 
> The life I love is making mucus with my friends
> 
> And I can’t wait to get on your Mom again.

 

While they were singing, Mike could barely contain his laughter.  Lucas glanced over at Will to see if he was annoyed or not.  Will was blushing, but he sang along with the others, right on cue.

 

As the music faded and an annoying radio announcer started some ad for a used car lot, Dustin clicked the cassette player off.  He took a little bow and said, “Thank you, thank you.”

 

“That may be the most offensive one yet,” admitted Lucas, impressed.

 

            ---

 

Mike Wheeler was secretly glad Lucas was late and that Dustin had found that Willie Nelson song.  It was a perfect distraction and meant he might not have to stall the night’s role playing as much.  Mike had an exact place in the story he needed tonight’s adventure to end, and he was worried he’d have to stretch for time. 

 

They had mutually agreed that it was time to start playing, so Dustin put the cassette player back in his backpack, and they all settled around the table to get down to some serious D&D.  They all had their own start of game rituals, and Mike watched as they began their piece of the familiar refrain. 

 

Dustin, on Mike’s right, took out his can of soda and snacks.  Then, he broke out the folder where he kept notes for the party.  In their very first session all those months ago, they were still playing the Basic rules and Dustin’s character had been pretty dumb.  They all thought it was funny that Dustin kept track of everything.  He made all the notes for the party when his character couldn’t even read or speak more than one language or pass a basic Intelligence or Wisdom check.  But Dustin always knew **_everything_** about the loot. 

 

They had quickly abandoned the Basic D&D rules and rolled new characters using the Advanced rules.  Dustin’s new character was a Dwarf named Orsik who started as a fighter and had recently re-classed and started leveling as a thief as well.  Mike knew where Dustin wanted to take his character, which was to the elite class of Bard.  But the rules had race restrictions on the Bard class and Mike was making Dustin sweat this out.  Mike liked keeping the others in the dark on whether he would allow Dustin to skirt the race restrictions on the bard class, and let him end up with the world’s first Dwarven Bard.

 

Across from Mike sat Will, who was busy organizing a bunch of sheets of all types of paper - lined, construction, and graph paper.  Will was the one who mapped where they were going and kept track of their location, so they never got lost in a castle or dungeon.  Some of the modules had printed maps Mike could have shared, but Mike didn’t like to give the players out of game information.  If they were exploring an unknown area, they shouldn’t have any idea how large or small a room was before opening the door. 

 

Will normally preferred a more generic and artistic style of map, but Lucas, who played hex-and-counter war-games with his Dad, had appeared one night early on with a pad of graph paper.  Will took the hint and penciled out exacting maps on the graph paper as they explored, but often turned these into more artistic maps on the construction paper once an area was fully mapped.

 

Will also liked to draw the party members or other memorable characters or events from the campaigns.  Mike loved these drawings, and dutifully collected any sketch or drawing Will left behind.  At first the ones Will left behind were only doodles, but in time Will started to leave fully finished drawings, some in color, some in pencil.  Mike suspected Will was now leaving them behind on purpose.  Mike was glad to have them to commemorate the campaigns, and he kept all the drawings with the other D&D reference materials and the binder he used as a DM screen.

 

Will played a human Mage named Will the Wise.  At first Mike was annoyed that Will had chosen such an unimaginative name for his character.  But over these months of playing, Mike realized that the player characters controlled so little of the game, he **_had_** to let them have full control over their own characters.

 

Mike smiled to himself and thought, _Full control_ w _ith a few specific exceptions.  The DM has a lot of power._

 

Lucas sat to Mike’s left and grabbed the dice bag and dumped it out on the table.  When they first started playing they only had one of each of the specialty dice that came with the D&D set.  But over the months they accumulated more and more.  They pilfered some six-siders from the other games they owned, but they had to buy the special dice from the hobby store.  They now had enough D20’s so that they each had one of their own, and Lucas was dutifully sorting those and passing them out.  Lucas kept all the others: D12s, D10s, D8s in varying sizes and quantities, the few D4s they had, and the huge number of D6s they had scavenged, in a pile to the side.  Lucas handed them out as needed.

 

Lucas played a human Fighter who was specializing as a Ranger.  There was a sling weapon in D&D, which was maybe the closest to the wrist rocket, but a sling wasn’t very powerful.  Lucas focused on becoming proficient with other ranged weapons as well, including the long and short bows.  Lucas’s character was named Ehren, which was pronounced like the name “Aaron”.  Ehren didn’t have a lot of knowledge from books, but he knew a lot about the natural world and could always be counted on to help identify any type of creature, animal, or plant they encountered.

 

Mike opened the binder he used as his DM screen and checked the little side pocket.  The special invitations for next week were there, just where he’d put them earlier.  Everything was already cleared with his Mom, so if everything worked out tonight, and he could somehow convince Nancy to help him, next week would be the epic conclusion to the Elder Tree Saga.  He couldn’t wait.

 

Mike smiled over the binder and asked, “Who wants to recap where we are?”

 

Mike asked this every game session, but it was a formality.  Will and Lucas both looked over at Dustin who already had his nose in his notes.  Dustin always reminded them where they were in the adventure, and Mike had become used to Dustin’s excellent summaries.  So much so, that Mike started to rely on the recaps to remind him of storylines and loose plot threads.

 

Dustin held up his hands to silence them all.  “Umm.  Okay.  We totally defeated the evil Wizard Troyen, but what we didn’t realize was that he was a necromancer and a lich and that even though we killed him, he could still come back through his fa . . .  “

 

Dustin struggled with the word.

 

“His phylactery,” supplied Lucas.

 

“Exactly.  So he wasn’t defeated for long, and he’s back with a vengeance  . . .”

 

“Again,” interrupted Will, rolling his eyes at Mike’s continued use of their nemesis Troyen James, who had been a recurring villain since they were at like, level two.

 

“And we couldn’t figure out Troyen’s plan or find his phylactery . . . “

 

“Until now,” smiled Lucas smugly, while reaching for the prop Mike had made for the phylactery. 

 

It was just a red rubber ball Mike got from one of those little coin-op machines at Bradley’s Big Buy, but he had painted it black.  When the group had finally found the phylactery, two sessions ago, Mike had described the orb as “a dark crystalline rock which absorbed all light,” which sounded better than “superball with acrylic paint on it”.  Orsik carried the actual phylactery in the party’s Bag of Holding, but the prop was stored in the dice bag.

 

“And now,” continued Lucas, “when we kill that asshole Troyen again, we can destroy this phylactery and he’ll finally be gone for good!”

 

“But are we supposed to destroy it before killing him so his soul has nowhere to go, “ wondered Will, “or should we wait ‘til he dies and goes in there before destroying it?”

 

“We don’t know,” admitted Dustin.  “Not for sure.”

 

“I think the second one,” shrugged Lucas.  “And once he’s dead and stuck in this thing,” he held up the prop for effect, “then we’re gonna smash it!” 

 

Lucas emphasized his point by whipping the ball onto the ground and making a breaking glass noise.  The ball bounced up and slammed into the ceiling.  Lucas caught it as it rocketed back down with an impressive back-handed grab.  “We got this!”

 

Mike smiled to himself behind his DM screen.  He used to wonder if the others were really into role-playing as much as he was, or if they played merely to humor him.  Lately they seemed to be really into it.  Mike wondered if it was because he was deviating more and more from the modules, or if they were just getting more attached to their characters and the world they were building together.

 

Dustin shook his head at Lucas.  “I don’t know, dude.  Troyen gets stronger each time he comes back and he learns from his mistakes.  We may need help to beat him again.”

 

“That’s why we’re here, right?” Will asked, trying to get the summary back on track.

 

“Yes,” Dustin said, checking his notes.  “At the same time we found the phylactery, we found out that Troyen’s plan is to curse the Elder Tree with Soul Rot and take it over as the base for his new undead army.”

 

The Elder Tree was basically a rip-off of Lothlorien from _The Lord of the Rings_ but on a smaller scale.  In this world Mike was building, The Elder Tree was a giant tree that served as home to a bunch of magical elves.  Will and Lucas used to howl objections when Mike took something from source material they knew, jeering “rip-off” and “copycat” at their DM.  Luckily Dustin and his vocab words saved Mike one night.  Smiling at Mike’s clearly ripped-off description of The Elder Tree, Dustin had simply explained, “It’s not a rip-off, it’s an homage.”

 

Mike thought it sounded like Dustin was saying the word for some type of fancy cheese from Wisconsin, but he was glad they stopped giving him so much grief over ideas he lifted from other stories or comics.  Mike’s answer every time they said something now was, “It’s not a rip-off, it’s an _homage,_ ” which Mike delivered with a “bored with you” French accent.

 

Dustin continued.  “So now we’re at The Elder Tree trying to get an audience with the Elf Princess to get some help to beat Troyen.”

 

“And to warn them about his plan,” Will reminded Dustin.

 

“Yes, so we left Splug outside The Elder Tree, for obvious reasons, and we’re trying to see the Elf Princess.”

 

Splug was an NPC the party had adopted long ago.  Splug was a young goblin child-slave of Troyen’s who they had freed in an earlier campaign.  It was the first slave the group had freed, and Splug was very young, so Mike had Splug imprint on the party and follow them around.  Splug had also been there during the adventure where they suffered their greatest loss -- the death of Mike’s player character.  Mike thought he understood why they kept Splug around all this time, and Mike liked playing the character.  He had Splug’s voice down pat.  Splug’s voice was a whinier and more high-pitched version of Mike’s actual voice from when he was a little kid always following Nancy around.

 

Splug also had some of the worst attributes for an adventurer to have, which made him fun to role-play.  Mike was never sure if the other guys knew he had given Splug what he thought were some of their least heroic attributes.  Like Will, Splug was small and not physically intimidating at all.  Like Dustin, Splug was pretty cowardly and afraid of any situation where he would get hurt.  And like Lucas, Splug was pretty greedy and bloodthirsty in game.  If Ehren had his way, every encounter would end in a battle where Ehren could kill his foes and loot the bodies.  Luckily, Orsik and Will the Wise were around to counter-balance Ehren and Splug’s urge towards violence and looting.

 

Mike’s memories were interrupted by Dustin.  “But this jack-off,” Dustin said, gesturing to Mike, “won’t let us see the princess.”

 

Mike knew this was his cue to jump in.  He took on the nasal officious tone of the Elvish factotum they were speaking to, Aerandir.  All of Mike’s elves sounded vaguely British for some reason and he based the tone and manner of this character on a DMV worker his Mom had a fight with when she was renewing her driver’s license.

 

“As I have told you before, the last time you were here,” Mike said in his Aerandir voice, “Princess Enelya has no time for such **_ruffians_** as you.”

 

Mike **_loved_** the word “ruffians” and had been waiting a long time to use it.  Mike had already decided the elves were not going to come to the rescue this campaign, and there was no way the party was going to see Princess Enelya. 

 

_At least not_ _tonight_. 

 

But he had to let them try if they wanted to, even if he knew it wouldn’t work.  It gave them a chance for a little role playing instead of just endless battles.

 

Will raised his voice and gave a speech in character.  “But Aerandir, we found out Troyen’s plan is to curse the Elder Tree and take it over.  The Princess must be warned.”

 

“What are you babbling on about, old one?”  Mike asked in his Aerandir voice.  “The holy Elder Tree can be in no danger from a mere human magic user.”

 

Will glared at Mike.  Mike called Will’s character “old one” to get a rise out of him.  Will had created Will the Wise as a dashing young Wizard, not as an old man.  However, when Mike bought the figures they were using, he bought an old man miniature with a hat and long beard reminiscent of Merlin or Gandalf.  So early on, when they had been fighting Troyen the first time, Mike had made Troyen cast a powerful curse on Will the Wise to give him a horrible condition called Soul Rot, which instantly aged Will the Wise into a feeble old man.  The others thought it was to show how powerful Troyen was, or to introduce them to the concepts of disease or ongoing conditions that could impact their stats.  In reality, Mike just couldn’t stand the fact that Will’s own depiction of his character didn’t match the mini. 

 

_I’ll never tell them that, though_.

 

The first time they defeated Troyen, Will had definitely thought the Soul Rot would end once Troyen was dead.  Will thought his character would be restored to his youthful appearance and his lowered Strength and Constitution scores would be increased to their former levels.  But when that didn’t happen, they were all confused until Troyen resurfaced months later and revealed himself to be an almost immortal lich.  Mike knew Will still secretly hoped that when Troyen was defeated for good, and his phylactery destroyed, the Soul Rot would finally be lifted.  Mike wanted this to be on Will’s mind as they entered this last stage of the campaign. 

 

_Plus it’s fun to get them riled up sometimes._  
  


“Well what about an undead lich necromancer who wants the Elder Tree to be the new home base for his undead army?” Dustin asked as Orsik.

 

Mike scrunched up his face, and rolled his eyes, speaking as a disgruntled Aerandir, “Do not speak to me again, **_dwarf_**.  You know that your kind is not welcome here.  You should be glad I do not bring you before the great Princess Enelya, for I am not sure what she would do with the likes of **_you_**.”

 

Mike was using this speech to reinforce the idea that not all game-world problems could be solved by fighting.  Mike had already introduced the idea that slavery still existed in this fantasy world.  Splug had been a slave before the party liberated him.  But slavery was something they could fight against directly.  When they encountered slaves or slavers, they tended to roll initiative and kill all the slavers and free all the slaves.

 

They often had a pack of weakened, useless NPCs following them around until they could get them to safety.  Will in particular approached battles where NPCs might be hurt with a real instinct towards protecting the innocent.  It made the battles have a more dramatic feel with a little more ebb and flow, rather than just killing your enemies the fastest.  It made them think of positioning and tactics, and Lucas was the best at coming up with battle plans.

 

But this racism between all the races was something they couldn’t fight with swords.  Since elves and dwarves naturally distrusted one another so often in the fantasy stories they read, it made it easier to accept.  It forced Dustin to be nicer in character and less of a know-it-all, and it made all of them more conscious of the hatred, revulsion, and fear Splug faced whenever people met him, just for being a goblin.

 

Lucas stepped into the fray.  “Hey, maybe focus a little less on **_who’s_** saying it and a little more on **_what_** Orsik is saying.  Troyen is planning to take over your home.”

 

Mike pursed his lips in an officious little sneer and said, “He would never be able to defeat **_all_** the elves.”

 

Will leaned forward.  “Mike I want to conjure an image of myself – what I used to look like - in my hand to show the elf.  Do I need to roll to do that?”

 

_So Will figured it out after all_ , thought Mike. 

 

Aloud he said, “No.  No need to roll.  Will the Wise conjures an image of how he used to look before the Soul Rot Curse in his hand successfully.  Aerandir notices.”

 

Will held his hand out in real life, presenting it to Mike/Aerandir.  “This is what I used to look like.”

 

Mike turned up his nose, “And when would that be, a hundred years ago?”

 

“No,” Will explained softly, still in character.  “This was just a few months ago.  Troyen did this to me.  And we think he’s going to do the same thing to The Elder Tree.  He isn’t going to conquer your people or take the tree by force.  He’s going to corrupt and decay your home, so it can no longer support you.”

 

“So it’s no longer hospitable to the living,” interjected Dustin.

 

“That’s why we’ve come here for your help,” finished Lucas.

 

“We need your help to stop him,” said Will.  “So please let us see your leader.”

 

Mike was impressed.  They were really convincing.  But he couldn’t let that show because he wasn’t about to have someone else save the day in this campaign.  Not again.  Still, Mike had Aerandir soften.  ”I thank you for your words and this warning.  I will tell my leaders of this danger.  We elves have our own magics and hopefully we will be able to stop the destruction of our home in our own way.  Thank you again.  You are free to rest here overnight on this receiving branch and have something to eat.  But in the morning, you must be on your way.”

 

Then Mike gave a little flourish and brought his hands together as he made a sound effect with his lips, like something going up in a puff of smoke.  “And with that, Aerandir turns into mist and floats up higher into the tree and the structures built there.”

 

Dustin looked alarmed.  “He’s everywhere! He’s getting in the food!” 

 

Lucas laughed and gave Dustin a look.  “What’s the big deal?”

 

Dustin gave a little shiver.  “It’s like when Hank Pym shrank down and went around in the Vision’s body.  What if I just breathed in a big lung full of Aerandir and he’s gonna reform and burst out of my chest?”  Dustin pretended to shake out his beard.  “Is he in my glorious whiskers?”

 

Mike chuckled behind his DM screen.  Ever since Will got Soul Rot, Dustin had been really worried about being poisoned or exposed to disease.  This explained why he was so nervous about ingesting part of a minor elf functionary.  Mike had no idea if Dustin was just being his normal risk-averse self, or if he was just playing Orsik that way.  Either way, Mike appreciated it.  “So what do you guys do?” he asked.

 

Dustin shrugged.  “Well the mist-idiot said we could eat and rest.  What kind of snacks they got in this tree?”

 

            ---

 

Dustin Henderson watched Lucas push Will’s chair against the back of his own chair.  The two chair backs formed a little arch in the middle with a platform on either side.  Dustin rolled his eyes.

 

_Time for another Lucas action movie sequence._

 

The party had stayed the night in The Elder Tree and argued about what to do next.  Lucas had outright demanded that they just leave the thwarting of Troyen’s plan to the elves.  His exact words had been, “Forget them if they want to be like that.  Let them save their own stupid tree.”

 

It had turned into a bit of an argument.  Will and Dustin pointed out the elves only planned to stop Troyen’s plan, not finish him off.  Dustin knew Will had other motives for wanting to see Troyen defeated, but Dustin still agreed with him.  And anyway, even if the elves were able to defeat Troyen the party had the phylactery.  If that was still intact, Troyen would just keep coming back to make their lives miserable.

 

Mike had excused himself from the whole argument, and gone upstairs to see about getting an actual snack for them in real life.  This was a far cry from the bossy controlling Mike they had started with all those months ago.

 

When they first started playing, Mike not only acted as the DM, but also had a player character of his own, a lawful-good Paladin.  Mike’s reasons for this seemed sound, at first.  He mentioned that more PCs meant more protection, and that he really wanted to be part of the team.  But this turned out to be a horrible idea.  Mike, as his character, had entire dialogues with the NPCs, also played by Mike. 

 

_So, it was just hours of Mike talking to himself, which frankly was a snore._

 

Not only that, since Mike had inside knowledge as the DM, his character was really bossy, always telling the party what to do.  Mike totally became the star of the whole show.

 

This was the first real fight Dustin had with any of them.  As the newest member of the friend group he was really reluctant to bring this up to the others, but he was glad now that he did.  Lucas had agreed with him immediately, and suggested they insist Mike do something about it if he wanted them to continue playing.  Will had tried to defend Mike, either out of loyalty or out of just being too nice to spoil Mike’s fun, but in the end, they had all confronted Mike about it.  But nicely.  Good Cop Will had done most of the talking.

 

To his credit, Mike dialed back his character’s participation right away, and set a series of events into motion that led to a really great session where his character died.  

 

That session, which they all referred to now as “The Fall of the Paladin” was clearly set up to be the end of one of their campaigns.  They were fighting a group of Bugbears and Hobgoblins and had been chased onto the edge of a high cliff.  The four player characters and Splug were all trapped between the edge of the cliff and the oncoming platoon of Bugbears and Hobgoblins.  Everything looked dire, and Dustin remembered that night as the first time he really worried about a TPK (Total Party Kill).  The party was holding its own, but Splug had peered over the cliff and saw the Hobgoblins had reinforcements below who sent up a hot-air balloon filled with more enemies and weapons to flank them.

 

It was at that moment a stray rock thrown by one of the Bugbears hit Splug and knocked him off the cliff.  Dustin always thought the original way Mike was going to have his Paladin character die was by saving Splug.   But before Mike could do **_anything_** , Lucas had Ehren leap off the cliff after Splug.  Lucas always got physically into his actions and he leapt off the couch to demonstrate.  He was always doing things that were cinematic and looked cool, but weren’t strictly within the rules.  Mike made Lucas roll a Dexterity check to see if he could grab Splug in midair while plummeting.  Lucas easily passed, as it was one of his best stats, but then they both were just plummeting toward death.

 

Through a couple more improvised ability rolls and Mike’s hand-waving, Ehren and Splug managed to land on top of the rising balloon and cling to it.  The Hobgoblins in the balloon’s basket didn’t dare shoot at Ehren or Splug for fear of bursting their own balloon and falling to their deaths.  Will the Wise and Orsik finished off the Bugbears and Hobgoblins on the cliff, while Mike’s character tied off a long coil of rope and tethered it into the side of the cliff to potentially create a lifeline for the two stowaways.

 

Lucas had acted out clinging to the balloon with Splug, and shouted suggestions down to the group from his position balanced on the back of the couch.  He basically told them to let the balloon rise above the cliff and for the party to take out the Hobgoblins in the basket.  Once the balloon was high enough, he and Splug could safely jump from the balloon down onto the cliff.

 

So Will and Dustin had engaged in some good teamwork and some lucky ranged attacks to kill most of the Hobgoblins in the balloon.  However, there was one left who hurled an explosive potion which basically operated like a grenade.  And his aim was true.  The potion hit where Mike’s character stood, on the edge of the cliff.  It had damaged the Paladin badly, but worse, it shook part of the cliff loose and Mike had to make a saving throw to keep from falling.  Dustin noted at the time that Mike rolled his saving throw behind the DM screen, so they couldn’t see the result.  Then Mike solemnly told them he had failed the saving throw and fallen, and his character couldn’t survive the damage from the fall.

 

Remembering it now, the Paladin’s death had made for a great end to that campaign.  Even though they had asked for Mike to stop playing the character, all three of them had been affected by the “Fall of the Paladin.”  It was a credit to Mike’s storytelling. 

 

Dustin shook off his memories and focused on the here and now.  They had convinced Lucas they had to go after Troyen, so they trudged down to the ruins in an area of the map called The Barrens where they believed his lair to be.  The party had already fought through the outer areas and they found a part of the ruins that was clearly inhabited and had functioning, locked doors.  They entered a large door, which opened into a circular room.  A weird and very tall religious looking pedestal stood in the middle of the room.  On the other side of the room was the only exit, and the mass of skeletons and zombies waiting for them seemed intent on keeping anyone from opening that door.

 

Lucas had pushed his and Will’s chairs together to form a physical representation of the pedestal.  And now Dustin was sure they were in for another rule-breaking -- but great story-making -- action movie sequence.

 

Lucas surveyed the chairs and nodded in approval.  He turned to Will.  “Okay, use your mage hand to fling me up onto that pedestal, fastball special-like.”

 

Dustin smiled.  He knew what this meant.  In the _X-Men_ comics, sometimes Wolverine had Colossus throw him at an enemy.  They called it “the fastball special.” 

 

Dustin shook head slightly and regarded Lucas.  _You always have such cool ideas_ , he thought.  _But you can’t be bothered to read the rules, can you?_   _Mage hand is a weak cantrip spell and wouldn’t be able to lift your weight, much less fling you up in the air._   _Besides, Will has a spell literally called “Fly” that he could just cast on you to allow you to fly for a turn.  That would get you to the top of the pedestal no problem_. 

 

But Dustin didn’t bother pointing this out, he didn’t want to be the rules lawyer in this moment and spoil Lucas’s fun.  Besides, getting their long ranged shooter on top of the pedestal where he could pick off the undead from above seemed like a good idea.

 

All three of them looked to Mike for a ruling on whether this would be allowed.

 

Mike thought it over and then said, “Will the Wise could combine his spells of mage hand and levitate to try to throw Ehren up there, but he would have to use up both spells and he’d be exhausted for the next turn after this one.”

 

Will glanced at Dustin.  “You think Orsik can protect me and Splug for a turn before I recharge?”

 

Dustin nodded.  “Just stay behind me and I will.  And if this works, Ehren can provide us cover anyway.”

 

“Also,” Mike interrupted, “the top of that pedestal is angled and worn stone, so Ehren will have to pass a Dexterity check in order to land safely on top of it, without falling off.”

 

Dustin smirked.  Mike sounded excited by their plan, and having an ability check of Ehren’s best stat was hardly a deterrent, so it sounded like the DM was on board.

 

“That’s no problem,” Lucas said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.  “Okay, Will the Wise.  Do it!”

 

Will mimed raising his hand as if controlling the mage hand.

 

Mike nodded to Lucas.  “Okay roll for Dexterity.”

 

Lucas rolled and easily passed the check.  Then he went over to where the chairs were and leapt up onto the seats, straddling them both, the chair backs between his legs.

 

Dustin wondered for one terrible moment if Lucas’s weight would push the chairs away from each other, forcing him into a horrible version of the splits or making him bust his balls on the chair backs, but nothing happened.

 

It was moments like this, when Dustin really liked Mike’s evolving DM style.  Mike had subtly bent the rules to allow for the fastball special, but he came up with the required extra turn of rest penalty for Will.  And he had thrown in the ability check for Lucas, so on a really horrible roll it wouldn’t have worked at all.  This was Mike’s way of showing them the action was dangerous, without actually forbidding them from trying it. 

 

This was why Dustin still felt he had a decent chance to have Orsik become a dwarven bard, which was also against the rules as written.  Dustin thought this race-restriction was lame.  The Bard class already had such high stat restrictions that Dustin felt that was enough.

 

_Luckily Mike seems pretty open to us trying cool things_. 

 

It helped to know what kinds of stories Mike liked best, and Dustin knew Mike’s favorite stories all involved good triumphing over evil.  And Orsik and Will the Wise and Ehren were the good guys, so it wasn’t **_that_** surprising that sometimes the DM seemed to be secretly rooting for them.  

 

The party easily took out most of the assembled zombies and skeletons.  When there were only two left, Dustin said, “Shouldn’t they be doing a morale check about now?”  He was hoping that the last of their adversaries would flee or give up.

 

Mike shook his head.  “No way.  They’re pretty mindless after all.  They only have one goal and that’s to stop you from getting to the door on the other side of the room.”

 

Dustin sighed.  He and Will cornered the final foes and dispatched them in the next few rounds, without taking any significant damage.

 

Once the room was clear, Lucas had Ehren come down from his perch on the pedestal and they searched the room.  Orsik focused on looking for any secret doors.  Will the Wise took some time to down a healing potion and make sure Splug was okay too.

 

“I’ve searched the best I can,” Dustin told them.  “This is the only door.”

 

Lucas nodded.  “Well if this is it, we have to be prepared.  The final battle with Troyen may be behind this door.  Are we all ready?”

 

Will looked over at Mike.  “We tell Splug to stay back once we go into the room, until we figure out what’s in there.”

 

“Yes masters,” Mike said in his Splug voice.

 

“Okay,” Lucas said, gesturing to Dustin.  “See if it’s locked.”

 

“Check for traps first,” Will suggested.

 

Dustin dutifully rolled to check for traps, and finding none, checked the door using his thief’s skills.  The door wasn’t locked.  “That’s weird.  I can’t believe it’s not locked.”

 

“Maybe Troyen figured no one would ever get past the wall of undead,” Lucas suggested.

 

They had Splug go and hide on the other side of the pedestal, while they surrounded the door, hands raised and weapons drawn, ready for battle.

 

“I open the door,” said Dustin.

 

Dustin waited for Mike to respond, holding his breath for a second.  He was fully prepared to find a horde of undead behind the door led by Troyen himself.

 

Mike leaned over behind the DM screen and started to read the description of the room.  They used to be able to tell when Mike was winging it or going off-module because he would describe things more free form and wouldn’t be so obviously reading from a script.  Dustin had figured out a while ago Mike was hardly using the modules at all and was now writing his own descriptions and reading them off like they **_were_** from the module.  So it was hard to tell these days what was an official TSR description and what was just from Mike’s own mind.

 

“You open the door to see a dimly lit room.  You hear the burbling of liquid.  In the middle of the room you see three pools.  One is filled with blue liquid.  Another has red liquid and the last has yellow liquid.  On the far wall there is a large arch, and inside the arch, cut into the wall, are three stone basins.  You do not see any people or creatures in this room.”

 

“Wait!” cried Lucas, disappointed.  “So the zombies and skeletons were just guarding the bathroom?”

 

            ---

 

Will Byers kept busy by sketching the placement of the hot tubs and the urinals on the graph paper. 

 

Mike, clearly exasperated, had already corrected both Dustin and Lucas several times.  They were **_pools_** and stone **_basins_** , and this was **_not_** the bathroom.  Will smiled to himself as he grabbed another crayon to shade in which hot tub had which color liquid, all the while listening to his friends engage in light squabbling.

 

Will had multiple methods to disrupt and distract the others if they were **_really_** fighting.  Or if Will was just sick of their bickering.  But this was pretty lighthearted and he needed time to finish mapping the area anyway, so he just let them blather on.

 

“Lame!” Dustin said, reaching for the dice.  “I guess I check for secret doors or other **_secret_** urinals.”

 

Mike just made a clucking noise in his throat as Dustin rolled.

 

“Twenty!”  Dustin crowed.

 

“Waste of a crit,” Lucas commented, shaking his head.

 

“You know for sure that there are no secret doors.”

 

“Or secret urinals.”

 

“For the last time they are **_not_** urinals,” Mike almost shouted.

 

Will knew from Mike’s tone that now was the right time to intervene.  He said, “Orsik, it doesn’t look like this room is a trap or dangerous, so why don’t you go get Splug and tell him it’s safe to join us.”

 

Dustin agreed quickly, addressing his comment neutrally to the DM.  “Orsik goes to get Splug.”

 

“Will the Wise goes into the middle of the room and attempts to cast Detect Magic.”

 

“Directed at what?” asked Mike.

 

Dustin huffed.  “Uh, this room is small enough that the spell will hit everything.” When Mike glared at him, Dustin added, “Orsik reminds everyone from the other room.”

 

“Okay,” said Mike.  “The brightest result is the arch on the far wall.  Will the Wise gets the impression that it’s some sort of door or portal but it’s inert.”

 

“Anything else?” asked Lucas.

 

“Yes, the liquid in the three colored pools glows, indicating that the liquids are magic in some way.  And there is a faint glow from the basins, but neither Will the Wise or Ehren are close enough to see why.  But they can definitely tell that it’s not the stone basins themselves.”

 

“Gotta be something in them,” said Lucas.  “Ehren moves up to check out the three basins.”

 

“Am I back yet?” asked Dustin.

 

“Splug came with you willingly enough up to the door to this room.  But once in the doorway he stops and says ‘Splug doesn’t want to go in there, Master Troyen was here.  I can smell him.’”

 

Dustin sighed heavily.  “There’s probably some Troyen scat in one of those basins.”

 

“What **_is_** in the basins?” asked Lucas.

 

“They’re spaced far enough apart that you can’t look into them all at once.  Which one do you approach first?”

 

“The one on the left.”

 

Dustin reached out a hand to Mike as if coaxing him into the room.  “It’s okay buddy, come on in, he’s not here now.  Just be careful and don’t touch the pools, that stuff is magic.”

 

Mike absently took Dustin’s hand with his right hand and said “Okay, Tiny Master” in his high pitched Splug voice.  Then he turned to Lucas and spoke in his normal tone.  “In the left-most basin there’s a purple liquid residue coating the bottom of the basin.  Will the Wise’s Detect Magic spell is dissipating, but you see that the liquid still pooled there is the source of the magic he detected.”

 

Will started to suspect what the puzzle was at this point.  Mike had created puzzles for the party to solve to open certain doors or escape traps before.  A lot of them involved math, which Dustin really enjoyed.  Some of them involved interpreting pictographs or having certain arcane symbols in place of letters and deciphering a message.  Lucas was the best at figuring those out. 

 

Sometimes Will felt bad he wasn’t as quick to pick up on the puzzles as Lucas and Dustin, but this one seemed pretty obvious.  Will wondered if Mike included this puzzle specifically using clues Will would notice. But before he could voice his theory, the others were already brainstorming.

 

Lucas said, “Well, if this arch is a portal of some sort it’s these basins that’ll turn it on right?”

 

Dustin agreed.  “Sure, but what do we need to do?”

 

Lucas shrugged.  “We could **_go_** in the basins,” he said, miming peeing into them.

 

Dustin laughed.  “You think we need to roll for that?”

 

Even Mike smiled.  “I don’t think you need to roll to pee in the basins.”

 

Will spoke up then.  “I dunno, my Mom lives with all guys and she says our aim isn’t as good as we like to think.”

 

“Besides,” Mike smirked, “as awesome as you guys are, your pee isn’t, like, **_magical_**.”

 

“Maybe blood then?” suggested Lucas.  “A sacrifice?”

 

“We’re surrounded by undead,” Dustin pointed out.  “Who’re we gonna sacrifice?”

 

Lucas turned to Mike, who understood what he was getting at.  Mike put on his frightened Splug voice and crouched next to Dustin’s chair, pawing at Dustin’s arm.  “Protect me from the mean one, Tiny Master.”

 

Dustin patted Mike’s shoulder, and glared at Lucas.  “Leave Splug alone, Ehren.  Besides, our blood isn’t magic and Will doesn’t know any of the creepy blood magic spells anyway.  Maybe we need to drink the colored water out of the pools.”

 

_That’s actually an interesting alternate theory_ , thought Will.  He said to Mike, “While they’re discussing this, Will the Wise goes up to examine the other two basins to see if there’s anything in those.”

 

“Are **_you_** gonna just start chugging the magic hot-tub water?” Lucas asked Dustin.

 

“No way!” said Dustin forcefully.  “And you’re not going to make Splug do it either.”

 

“Okay,” shrugged Lucas.  “I’ll try it.  Which color should I try first?”

 

Will raised one hand in a “wait a second” gesture.  “Just gimme a second before you take that risk.”  To Mike: “What do I see in the middle basin?”

 

“You see the residue of an orange liquid.”

 

“Okay, Orsik, go over to the basin on the right and see if you can find any residue of a green liquid in it.”

 

“Okay.”  To Mike: “I go up to the right-most basin.  What do I see?”

 

“You also see a residue of liquid,” Mike acknowledged, and gave a little nod to Will.  “And the liquid is green.”

 

Will smiled.  _Just as I thought_.  “Okay I think I get it.  The pools of liquid are magic, and if you mix them together and put them into the basins, it should activate the portal.  The thing I don’t know is if we need to do it all at the same time or not.”

 

“Well there are three basins and three of us, so let’s presume it’s safest to just do it all at once.  But how do you know which liquids to mix and put where?”

 

“The three big pools are primary colors, and the basins all have residue of colors you get from mixing two of the primary colors,” Will explained.  “If we each take the one we’re in front of, I’ll mix yellow and red to get orange, Ehren can mix red and blue to get purple, and Orsik should mix blue and yellow to get green.  So we just need some containers to mix the colored liquids. ”

 

Dustin flipped through his notebook looking for something on his list of party loot to see if they had anything that could double as a mixing container.  He rested the eraser end of his pencil against his lips.  “We still have the full set of china we took from the greedy noble’s house.”

 

Lucas nodded smugly.  “I **_told_ **you guys looting anything and everything would pay off.”

 

Will watched Mike look back and forth between Dustin and Lucas.  Mike was smiling fondly at their interactions.  Will thought he understood why.  Lucas and Dustin weren’t being uproariously funny or anything, they were both just being **_so Lucas_** _and **so Dustin**_ that it was endearing.  And Will thought that it was **_so Mike_** to notice and appreciate that.  Mike was sweet.  Not that Will would ever say that kind of thing out loud.

 

Dustin tapped at the open page of his notebook.  “Okay, well, that set of china had like a bowl or two and a gravy boat and a ceramic pitcher.  I dig out the Bag of Holding and try to find it all.”

 

Mike spoke quietly.  “Will, Splug just sidled up to you and is tugging on the hem of your robes.”

 

“His **_dress_** you mean,” snorted Lucas.

 

Will ignored Lucas’s familiar dig, and asked kindly, “What is it Splug?”

 

Mike put on his Splug voice.  “Old Master, you should not go into that portal.  Master Troyen is very dangerous, and Splug cannot go with you to protect you.  Splug never wants to see Master Troyen again.  Ever.”

 

Lucas rolled his eyes and looked over at Dustin.  “While you still have that Bag of Holding out, just throw him in there so we can get going.”

 

Dustin gave Lucas a put upon look and huffed in annoyance.  “For the last time, Lucas, living things cannot be put into the Bag of Holding!”

 

Will chuckled.  He strongly suspected Lucas ignored or “forgot” rules sometimes just because it bugged Dustin.  Will caught Mike’s eye at that moment.  They both raised their right arms perpendicular to the table, made a fist, and brought their elbows down onto the table hard enough to make the binder wobble.

 

“Rules Lawyered!” they both said in unison.

 

Will couldn’t remember exactly how this weird arm movement started, but he believed the banging of your elbow was like the fall of the Judge’s gavel.  No matter who had started it, it was now something they all did when one of them corrected someone else on the rules to any game, but especially D&D.  Mike and Dustin did sometimes throw the rules around like a weapon, and when they did that, it just annoyed Will.  But most of the time, like now, it was just for fun.

 

Will gave Mike/Splug a sympathetic look and said, “You don’t have to come with us Splug.  It’s okay.”

 

“Splug brings up a good point though,” said Dustin giving Lucas a thoughtful look.

 

“Does he?” asked Lucas skeptically.  “It’s not like he would be a big help in the fight, it’s fine if he stays behind.”

 

“No, he would be no help at all,” agreed Dustin.  “But don’t we need **_some_** kind of help, though?  I mean, if we open this portal we may not have much time to go through.  We don’t know how long it will stay active.  Do we think we can take out Troyen all on our own?”

 

            ---

 

Mike had always wanted a brother. 

 

He loved Nancy, sure, but when he first found out his Mom was going to have another baby, he couldn’t help but hope it would be a little brother and not another sister.  His parents, ever practical and not that fond of surprises, had found out the sex of the baby already, and Mike knew any week now he’d have a baby sister.

 

Mike had never meant to let his disappointment at this news show to his folks, but he must have, because his Mom had consoled him and joked that now he wouldn’t have to share a room.  Mike had known she was joking.  They had enough rooms in their huge house for another kid or two.  So he’d said, trying to be sweet to his Mom, “Sure, and maybe the next baby will be a boy.”

 

His Mom had looked shocked and then did a little laugh-hiccup, and said, “No Michael, this will be the last baby, so unless the doctors are wrong about it being a girl, I’m afraid you’re not going to get a brother in the end.”

 

Mike must have looked disappointed again, because she’d given him a brief hug and said more seriously that he shouldn’t always focus on the negative and he should “count his blessings.”

 

And it was a weird time to do that, Mike knew.  When you were in your grubbiest sweats in your own dusty basement, stomach full from the little Ragu English muffin pizzas your sister had made earlier.  And hopped up on the caffeine from the store-brand Colas you and your friends were downing like water.  When you were sitting around a little table watching your friends debate whether or not they were brave enough and awesome enough to overcome the obstacles you had created especially for them. 

 

That was a weird time to count your blessings. 

 

That was a weird time to feel proud of your friends. 

 

A weird time to feel **_lucky_**.

 

But that’s what Mike felt as he watched his three friends seriously debate what they should do next.  Lucky.

 

There was a short time in his life when he only had one friend, and Will had always been enough. 

 

_But now to have **three** such good friends?  That’s a lot of blessings.  _

 

And Mike knew he annoyed them sometimes and they fought sometimes, but that was okay.  Even if Mike wasn’t going to have a real brother, he had these three goofballs.

 

And there were times, like right now, when he wanted to tell them how much they meant to him.  How much he relied on them.  How much he appreciated them.  But he could never find the right words.  So many things got in the way.  But mostly it was fear.  Fear of jinxing it.  Fear of being laughed at.  Fear of finding out he needed them much more than they needed him.

 

So instead of telling them, he hoped to show them.  That was what the invitations and the big ending to the Elder Tree Campaign were for.  Mike had something for each of them, and since it was within the confines of the game, it wouldn’t be weird.  It would be the reward for playing so well.

 

The three of them had decided to mix the different colored potions from the pools.  Will the Wise grabbed the pitcher, Orsik grabbed a bowl, and Ehen grabbed the gravy boat, and they started mixing the primary colors into their target colors.

 

Mike had been sad when he had to kill his player character.  Mostly because he was no longer part of the team.  But they had been right.  That decision had helped the story on so many levels.  Not only did it end their complaints of Mike and his character monopolizing the spotlight, it had shown there was real risk in this world.  Like how Tolkien killed Boromir early on to show the danger of important characters dying, and then didn’t have to kill off hardly anyone else. 

 

The other three were constantly worried about the danger, or at least Will and Dustin were.  But in reality, Mike wasn’t out to kill them.  Mike saw himself as the storyteller, helping to guide their party through a heroic journey.  It was hard to keep them alive, because Lucas could be really impulsive in game, doing crazy and dangerous things.  This made it hard for Mike because he had to find a believable way to have Ehren survive Lucas’s antics while not breaking the rules enough to make Dustin cry foul.

 

Mike had even resorted to sending in the cavalry on a couple of occasions where his plots had outgrown the ability of the party to overcome the forces of darkness.  Whenever he had to “help” them live, Mike always tried to tie it back to something good they’d done along the way.  Mike hoped this justified the cavalry showing up or Ehren’s deity intervening.  They were being rewarded or paid back for their own past good deeds.

 

The best thing the death of Mike’s character had done was to really bond the three of them as a party.  And that was what was happening at the end of this campaign too.  Mike was trying to get across to them that they couldn’t always rely on some outside force to save them.  This was why Mike didn’t let them see the Elf Princess and why Splug had announced he wouldn’t follow them through the portal.  This was why Ehren’s deity, Artemis, had not responded to requests for aid.  Mike wanted to make it clear that if they went through the portal, they would be going it alone against the dread lich.  And from their conversation, he thought it had worked.

 

“So is there anyone we can call on for help?”

 

“The elves just shut us down, I don’t think they’re going to be rushing here to help us.”

 

“What about Artemis?” Dustin asked Lucas.

 

“I’m not a cleric, dude.  I think her sending help was a one-time thing.”

 

“What about the New Horizon Militia?” asked Will.

 

New Horizon was the hometown that Ehren and Will the Wise were from.  The party had saved the town in more than one adventure and the militia came in to save the day in a prior campaign.

 

“It’s too far away,” sighed Dustin.  “From everything we’ve learned, Troyen is about to do the ritual to curse the Elder Tree.  We may already be too late.  I don’t think we have time to get word there and have them mobilize and get here.”

 

“Besides,” added Lucas, “The minute we’re gone these ruins will just repopulate with more undead.  We’d have to fight our way through again.  But all of this may be for nothing.  Let’s make sure this stuff even works.  Let’s pour this shit into the urinals.”

 

Mike smiled to himself, but ducked to hide it behind the binder.

 

Will nodded, and Dustin said, “Okay.”

 

Lucas spoke directly to Mike.  “We each take our mixture to the appropriate basin, and on the count of three we dump them in.  What happens?”

 

Mike leaned down to read his own scratchy handwriting.  “Nothing happens at first.  But then you each see the colored mixture in the basin in front of you start to bubble, like it’s boiling.  As soon as that starts, the archway lights up with the familiar silver-white shimmer of a portal.  All you can see is the mirror-like surface of the portal, you cannot see through to what lies on the other side.”

 

“If we go through its just us,” Will reminded the others.

 

Dustin nodded.  “No cavalry.”

 

“No gods,” said Lucas.

 

Mike smiled to himself, pleased.  _They get it_ , he thought, _they get **me**_.

 

Will looked from Dustin to Lucas.  “It’s just the three of us from here on in.”

 

“Three of us against the world,” agreed Lucas, smiling.  “I’ll take those odds,” he said, throwing his hand into the middle of the table.  “Let’s do this.”

 

Will moved first, putting his hand on top of Lucas’s. 

 

Mike was strongly reminded of _The Three Musketeers_.   He wanted to cry “rip-off” and “copycat” at **_them_**.  But he knew it was just an homage. 

 

_Besides,_ Mike thought, _This is perfect._

After a long moment of looking both fearful and thoughtful, Dustin finally put his hand on top of Will’s.

 

Dustin was shaking his head dramatically, clearly worried, listing the things they didn’t have to help them.  “No Gods, no shamans, no escape hatch, no compass, no cavalry  . . . “

 

Lucas rolled his eyes.  “No patience.”  To Mike, Lucas said, “Ehren steps through the portal.”

 

Mike was loving this.  He said, “Ehren disappears from view.”

 

“How rude,” said Dustin.  “I still had several relevant synonyms left.  But okay, Orsik readies his weapon and steps through.”

 

“Orsik disappears from view.”

 

Will said, “I give Splug a map of how to get out of here, and one of my healing potions, and fifty gold . . . “

 

“Hey!”  protested Dustin.  “Don’t be giving away any party loot!”

 

Will looked annoyed at Dustin spoiling his nice moment.  “You **_have_** all the party money in the Bag of Holding, Dustin.  And also, Orsik isn’t even **_here_** to see what I just did anyway, so zip it.”

 

Dustin zipped it.

 

Mike reached out his hand as Splug to take the items from Will and said, “Thank you Old Master.  Be careful.  I hope we’ll meet again someday.”

 

“I hope so too.”  Will smiled at Mike, sat up straight and squared his bony shoulders.  “Will the Wise goes through the portal.”

 

Mike began to read.  “As you each step through the portal, your eyes take a second to adjust to the gloom.  The place you are now in is only dimly lit with torches and a large fire burning in the corner of the room.  By the time your eyes adjust, you have all arrived and are standing next to each other in front of the portal.  You can all make out some skeletons and zombies around the fire stirring something in a cauldron which is suspended over the fire on some wires.  They seem to be tending to some sort of ritual.  They do not react at all to the portal or to your arrival.  They are all focused on their simple tasks.  The room is not large, and is the rough shape of a rectangle.  It appears to be carved out of solid stone on all sides.  Aside from the portal, there do not seem to be any other entrances or exits to this room.  Besides the two skeletons and two zombies tending to the ritual, there is only one other thing of note in the room.  To your right, atop a throne made from the bones of a giant, sits Troyen James.”

 

“Oh shit,” whispered Dustin.

 

Mike smiled and continued.  “He is looking at you.  You cannot tell if his expression is one of amusement or of annoyance, but he does look surprised to see you.  That is what you **_all_** notice or see.  But due to your experience and specializations, there is also **_one_** thing that each of you notices that the others don’t.”

 

They all perked up at this. 

 

Mike had done this before, giving each of them some secret knowledge of a plotline or situation.  When he had done this in the past, he gave them each a note with their secret info on it, and he let them decide whether or not to tell the others.  Here, Mike didn’t want these observations to be kept secret.  He wanted them to be shared instantly, to see how quickly the three could work as a team.  So he decided to simply announce the information in front of all of them.  It was better for the pacing of the story anyway.

 

“Orsik, you notice immediately from all your dungeoneering experience that this space is fully underground somewhere, maybe far underground.  Maybe miles below the ruins on the other side of the portal.  But you do not sense any cracks or openings in this room at all.”

 

Dustin shook his head, alarmed, “Guys I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.  Or if we are, we’re deep under it.  I tell the party what I figured out.”  Dustin worried at a thumbnail and stared down at the map glumly.

 

Mike nodded, but quickly continued.  “Ehren, your experience with nature allows you to recognize that there is no built in air flow in this room at all.  The only fresh air you sense is the air coming in at your back through the portal.  If that portal closes, breathable air will be in short supply.”

 

Lucas groaned.  “I tell everyone and warn them.  They don’t need air,” he said gesturing at the skeletons and zombies.  “The undead don’t need to breathe.”

 

Finally, Mike turned to face Will.  “Will the Wise, although it is evil magic Troyen is doing, you recognize the nature of the ritual his lackeys are working on.  You understand that if the liquid in the cauldron is spilled, or if the fire goes out, either of those things could disrupt or delay the ritual.”

 

Will blinked, and his face turned pale.  Mike thought Will looked truly scared. 

 

Will said, “Crap.  I look back at the portal to see if I can figure out if it’s closing.”

 

Mike nodded solemnly.  “You can all recognize that the portal has the telltale shimmer indicating it is about to close.”

 

“Do we have to roll for initiative?” asked Dustin.

 

Mike wondered how his friends would deal with this influx of information, and how they would deal with the grim situation they found themselves in, so he wanted to give them the best chance.  He said, “Not yet, you each have time to take one action.  The undead haven’t even noticed you, they’re focused on their tasks.  It looks like Troyen was surprised by you, so you can have one action as a surprise round.”

 

The other three looked at each other gravely.

 

Mike added hastily, “You guys do have time during this surprise round to step back through the portal before it closes if you want to.  But you all think that shortly after the surprise round it will close.”

 

Lucas turned to Will.  “Can you do something about the air?”

 

Will nodded.  “I think so.  Can one of you disrupt the ritual?”

 

Dustin and Lucas both said, “Yes.”

 

“So we’re staying then?” Dustin asked.  “We could just leave.  It might be the smart play.”

 

Lucas scoffed.  “Heroes don’t just leave.  It’s us against the world, right?”

 

“Right,” nodded Will.

 

“Okay,” shrugged Dustin.  “Us against the world.  I don’t know where in the world we are, but let’s kick this little corner of the world’s ass!”

 

“What are your actions?”

 

Will spoke first.  “I try to cast Gust of Wind through the portal trying to push as much air from The Barrens into this space so we won’t suffocate.   Can I do that?”

 

“You’re just trying to bring fresh air through the portal, and you’re not trying to tip anything over or move anything but air?” Mike clarified.

 

“Right.”

 

“You can do it.  Will the Wise casts Gust of Wind and air from the portal room comes streaming into this room.”

 

Dustin jumped in next.  “Orsik wants to hurl two of his throwing daggers at the wires holding the cauldron up over the fire, to make it tip to one side or fall completely.”

 

“Roll to hit for each dagger separately.”

 

Dustin rolled two dice and announced his numbers.  He looked at Mike expectantly.

 

“Only one of the wires snaps, but it causes the cauldron to swing over to one side, dumping its contents and dousing the fire.  The zombies and skeletons all notice you now.” 

 

Mike turned to Lucas. 

 

Lucas mimed drawing an arrow from a quiver and pulling back on his bow.  “Ehren uses his long bow to try to pin Troyen to that stupid throne of bone.”

 

“Roll to hit.”

 

Lucas rolled and hit easily. 

 

“Now roll for damage,” Mike told him.

 

Lucas rolled and announced the damage and Mike dutifully recorded it behind the screen.

 

Mike knew now he needn’t have worried about how his friends would handle this battle.  His friends were **_smart_**.  And Mike knew that, but sometimes they were just so **_scary smart_** that it made him wonder if they were **_all_** smarter than he was.  That maybe one of **_them_** should be the DM, instead of him. 

 

Then Mike said, “Troyen uses a free action to speak to you.”

 

“Uh-oh, villain monologue incoming,” smirked Dustin.

 

Mike ignored this.  It was true after all.  This might be the final role-playing Mike would get to do as Troyen, so he was going to have his fun too.  When Troyen was still among the living, before his first defeat at the hands of the party, Mike just used an outright impression of Troy, the bully from their school, as the voice of Troyen.  But after each defeat, death, and rebirth through the phylactery, Mike had allowed Troyen’s voice to be deeper and more guttural.  He used the deep rumbling voice now as he read the speech he had written for Troyen weeks ago, and revised as things changed in the campaign.

 

“We meet again.  You are persistent thorns in my side, I’ll give you that much.  Do you still have my cup-bearer with you?  I don’t see him . . . but what is that I do sense? My phylactery?  Here?  Inside your Bag of Holding?”

 

Dustin interrupted.  “He shouldn’t be able to sense anything inside the Bag of Holding.”

 

Mike ignored this and carried on.  He suspected that Dustin was engaging in more rules lawyering as himself, and not role-playing as Orsik.  Mike improvised a bit. “You think I cannot sense the place my soul calls home?  The place of my rebirth?”

 

Mike slipped back into his written material.  “You are fools to have come here.  You’re simply too late to stop me now.”  Mike was forced to improvise a bit more. “Your upsetting the cauldron has only delayed the ritual.  My lackeys can get that set right.”

 

Mike switched back to his DM voice.  “You notice with a flicker of light that the portal closes behind you.  Troyen snaps off the shaft of Ehren’s arrow and stands up, gesturing to his servants.  The zombies start trying to fix the cauldron and the skeletons re-set the fire.”

 

Now Lucas interrupted, almost bouncing in his seat.  “Now roll for initiative?”

 

Mike smiled an evil smile and spoke again as Troyen.  “But while I wait for them, I guess I have enough time to **_kill_** the three of you.”

 

Back in his DM voice, Mike said, “Roll for initiative.”

 

All three of them grabbed for their dice and rolled.  Mike rolled behind the screen once each for Troyen, the zombies and the skeletons.  As the boys called out their numbers, Mike recorded the results on the sheet behind his screen.

 

Finally Mike set his pencil down, looked at them impassively and said, “We’ll end there for tonight.”

 

Mike smiled as they instantly began arguing.

 

“No way!”

 

“Please say you’re kidding!”

 

“It’s not even that late!”

 

Mike let them whine for a little longer, pleased they wanted to continue, but also pleased that he had set up such a good cliff-hanger to begin with.  He reached into the side pocket of the binder and pulled out the three pages of fake parchment.  They were all crinkled and a special brown color and covered with old-fashioned, ornate lettering. 

 

Mike’s stomach twisted with sudden nerves.  He had used props and terrain in game before and the party had responded well to it in the past.  But this was a little weird because it really wasn’t an in-game thing.  It was a real life invitation made to look like it was written on ancient parchment, for no real reason other than Mike thought it was cool.  Now, looking at the pages he wondered if they were more cheesy than cool.  But he had worked hard on them so he decided to just go for it.

 

He pulled the papers out and handed one to each of the still squabbling boys.  As they took the papers they lapsed into silence one by one.

 

Dustin started reading his aloud.  “Your presence is requested for a sleepover at the Wheeler house on Saturday the 18th . . .”

 

Will continued, smiling down as his invite, “. . . for the epic conclusion of The Elder Tree Campaign.”

 

Lucas concluded, chuckling.  “P.S.  Mrs. Wheeler approved this message.”

 

Mike smiled hopefully at them.  “I hope you can all come.”

 

“Your Mom probably already cleared it with all the Moms,” observed Lucas.  “One of the only benefits of the Mom Spy Network.  But I’ll make sure I can make it.  It’s time to finish off Troyen once and for all.”

 

“How did you do all this?”  Dustin asked, holding up the invitation.  “Get it all wrinkly and brown?”

 

“Like my Mom,” interjected Lucas automatically.

 

Mike laughed.  “Nancy suggested it.  I folded and crumpled each piece of paper to make it look all worn and old.  Then I used tea and paint brushes to stain it, so it looked more like parchment.”

 

Will looked impressed.  “You put a lot of work into this.  I didn’t know you were so into arts and crafts.”

 

“Hey,” said Mike acting offended.  “I put a lot of work into **_all_ **of the campaigns.  But yes, now that football season started I have a lot of time to either watch football with my Dad, or do **_literally_** anything else.  So arts and crafts it is.”

 

“But this isn’t your chicken scratch hand-writing,” observed Dustin.  “This is **_beautiful._** ”

 

Mike nodded, pleased.  “I know, right?  I wanted people to be able to read it.  So I knew I couldn’t write it.  I asked Barb to help me.  She’s into calligraphy.  She has these special pens and everything and she let me watch her do some of it.  It’s pretty cool, actually.”

 

“Is that why you had me make this?”  Will asked, pulling a paper out of his own pile.  It was a piece of construction paper with 3-dimensional block letters, drawn as if they we leaping off the page.  It was super colorful and read, “Thank You Barb!” Written in smaller letters underneath was, “From The Party.”

 

Mike tapped a finger against his forehead.  “Thank you so much for remembering.  We should all sign that so I can give it to her.”

 

Lucas made a face and shot Mike an annoyed look.  “So are you giving Will drawing assignments now?  He’s not your personal art slave.”

 

 “Will doesn’t mind,” Mike snapped.  But then he had a moment of doubt, so he looked over to Will and asked, uncertainly, “I mean, do you?  If you do you should just tell me.”

 

“Yeah,” Dustin grinned, “tell him to crumple up his art assignment into a tight ball and cram it!”

 

Will laughed at Dustin, but shook his head at Mike.  “I don’t mind at all.”  Then Will reached for a crayon.  “I’ll sign it first.”

 

Will signed his name with a flourish, and handed the paper over to Lucas.  After they each signed it, Mike tucked it in his notebook and they all started packing up their things.

 

Mike noticed that they treated the invitations with care as they packed them up to take home. 

 

_Maybe not so cheesy after all_. 

 

“Thanks for coming over you guys,” Mike said earnestly.

 

Dustin beamed at Mike.  “Thanks for the English muffin pizzas!”

 

“And the fun adventure,” added Will.

 

“Nah,” said Lucas, “it was too short this week. He stopped it just as it was getting good.”

 

Mike smiled knowingly.  “Well, be sure to show up next week.  It should be really special.  I mean, if any of you survive.”

 

            ---

 

Nancy Wheeler was trying her hardest to sing and dance like Irene Cara.

 

As a gangly white girl from the Midwest, she was failing spectacularly.  But she was unembarrassed as she sang along to the radio.  “I’m gonna learn how to fly.”

 

Then she turned to point to her friend, Barb, who sang along.  “High!”

 

This wasn’t the Friday night of Nancy’s dreams, but it was turning out to be more fun than she thought it would be.  Being able to blast the radio with no parents around was nice.

 

All last year Nancy had lobbied hard to be left home alone.  No more babysitters.  In her mind, her parents would take Mike somewhere and she would be left home alone to do whatever she wanted. 

 

In reality, she had convinced her parents, but all that meant was she was Mike’s unpaid babysitter.  And ever since Mom announced she was pregnant again, her parents had been having weekly date nights.  Which meant Nancy was expected to be available to babysit.  That was how she found herself stuck home on a Friday night watching over Mike and his friends.

 

The one saving grace was Nancy was allowed to have a friend over.  She might have implied that she felt more comfortable having a girlfriend over so she wasn’t so outnumbered by the boys.

 

_And Mom and Dad bought it_.

 

Nancy and Barb leaned toward each other and sang along, “Remember my name!  Fame!  I’m gonna live forever . . .”

 

Granted, Nancy didn’t have a pressing social calendar.  But she was a teenager now and her parents couldn’t expect her to watch her dorky brother and the Nerd Squad whenever they wanted. 

 

Nancy wouldn’t admit this to her parents, but honestly, it was easier to watch Mike when he had friends over.  They confined themselves to the basement for the most part, where they could spend literal hours without bothering Nancy.  Mike had come upstairs tonight only once, asking for food and sneaking more sodas.  Mom had planned for that though and slapped some Ragu sauce and cheese on English muffins for Nancy to pop into the oven for the boys.  Once Mike disappeared with the food and the sodas, Nancy hadn’t heard any more from him the rest of the night.  If they didn’t come up of their own accord soon, Nancy would have to go break up their stupid game.  Mom had left strict orders that the boys needed to head home by nine.

 

“Baby remember my name.  Remember, remember, remember .  . . “

 

Nancy remembered how she had even gotten to see _Fame_ , which of course she shouldn’t have, since it was rated “R”.  It was proof that the things you learn at school have some practical implications on your life.  In biology they had learned about evolution and how things changed over time.  Her relationship with her brother was like that.  Evolving. 

 

It had started with him worshipping her and doing whatever she asked him to.  Then it had morphed into this “I hate girls” stage where he turned up his nose at her and wanted nothing to do with her at all.  Then they were in what she thought of as the “all-out war” stage, where all they did was snipe at each other, tattle on each other, and compete for their parents’ attention.  Now she thought they were evolving into yet another stage, this one also explained by a concept from biology class. 

 

_Lately we’ve had more of a **symbiotic** relationship_.

 

In the past six months or so, instead of being locked in a battle for their parents’ attention, they had united in some schemes against their parents.  It had been Mike’s idea to present a united front back in June when she and Barb had snuck into _Fame_.  Mike and his friends wanted to see _The Empire Strikes Back_ for the umpteenth time, and _Fame_ was still playing at the multiplex a couple towns over.  Mike had wanted money and a ride, but he knew neither parent was going to sit through the _Star Wars_ sequel again.  So Mike had asked Nancy if she and Barb could chaperone.  Nancy hadn’t wanted to see _Empire_ again, so asked what was in it for her. 

 

“You don’t have to see _Empire_ if you don’t want to,” Mike shrugged.  “Although it is like the best movie of all time.  But if you want to, pocket the money, or go to another movie, or **_whatever_** , just help us **_get there_**.”

 

It had sounded good to Nancy and it worked like a charm on their parents.  Once they were all dropped off, Barb and Nancy had gotten six tickets to _Empire_ , deposited the boys in the theater with a promise to behave, and snuck into a showing of _Fame_.

 

“I can ride your heart ‘til it breaks, ooh I got what it takes.”

 

They missed the very beginning of the movie as it had started earlier, and Barb had been terrified of getting caught, but Nancy wasn’t worried.  Most of the people who worked there were high schoolers barely older than they were, and none of them seemed to care.  Besides, there was no such thing as movie theater jail.  Worst case scenario, Nancy would say they walked into the wrong theater, and, if necessary, burst into tears. 

 

_It works more often than you’d think_.

 

Watching _Fame_ had been **_eye opening_** to say the least.  Nancy couldn’t even imagine why someone would want to say “Fuck” in the middle of a high school classroom, even if it was a special high school for the performing arts.  But the characters in the movie did it, and didn’t even get into trouble.  Nancy was pretty sure that would not fly when she got to Hawkins High. 

 

“I’m gonna make it to heaven, light up the sky like a flame, fame!”

 

The rest of the movie had given Barb and Nancy a lot to talk about as well.  From the _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ , to drug use, to sex and abortion, all the way to one character coming out as homosexual.  Prior to the movie, Nancy had only had the vaguest idea of what that even meant.  Now Nancy and Barb had learned more, but to be honest, Nancy didn’t understand why it was such a big deal.  It didn’t seem to be as upsetting as the movie made it out to be.

 

Nancy’s most pressing thoughts, which she had avoided discussing with Barb beyond some giggles, had come from the movie’s nudity.  Seeing fully developed breasts on display really made Nancy wonder when, or if, she was ever going to get real boobs.  She already felt immature next to Barb and most of the other girls in her class.  In the locker room at Junior High, she sometimes felt like a boy in comparison to the other girls.

 

“Baby remember my name.”

 

The song trailed off and the radio announcer came back on.  Barb smiled at her and turned the radio back down.  “Still can’t believe we saw that.  You’re a bad influence on me, Nancy Wheeler.”

 

Nancy laughed.  “Please.  You loved it.  Besides, if you were so scandalized, you probably shouldn’t have told literally everyone at school about seeing it.”

 

Barb tipped her head to one side.  “Hey, I need to get my cool points whenever and where ever I can.  And information is power.  Just knowing about the existence of _Rocky Horror_ and abortion, makes me seem more interesting somehow.”

 

Nancy laughed, but couldn’t deny knowing about things the other kids didn’t, gave her a superior feeling sometimes.

 

“What’s rocky horror and abortion?”

 

They both whipped around to find Mike standing behind them.  He was holding a piece of construction paper and looking at them curiously.

 

“ _Rocky Horror_ is a movie about a cross-dressing scientist,” Barb started.

 

“No!” interrupted Nancy.  “No.  We are not discussing this now.  Those are questions for when you’re older, Mike.  Where are your friends?”

 

Mike shrugged.  “They just left.”  He tried and failed to hide his smirk.  “You may not have heard us since you were so busy singing and dancing.”

 

Nancy rolled her eyes and gave him what she thought of as her disciplinarian look. “Okay, well you know the drill.  You had people over in a common area.  You know what you need to do now.”

 

Mike made a face at her.  “Go clean up the basement.”

 

“Exactly.  Bring up that pizza plate and rinse it off.  And remember to take all those cans out into the garage and crush them.”

 

Nancy and Mike were responsible for crushing the aluminum cans and putting them in a bag for recycling.  You stomped into the middle of the can to crush them, and then flattened each end.   When they had enough bags of aluminum, Mom would take the bags to the recycling center and let the kids keep the change they got for them.  It was kind of fun to stomp on the cans sometimes.

 

“Okay,” Mike said agreeably enough.  “But later when you don’t have a friend over, can I talk to you about something?”

 

Nancy sighed inwardly, but said, “Sure.  Once you finish your chores and get ready for bed, we can talk until Mom and Dad get home.”  She lifted an eyebrow.  “If you **_promise_** to pretend you’re asleep, so I don’t get in trouble.”

 

“Okay.”  Mike handed Barb the piece of construction paper.  “Also I wanted to give this to you.”  He smiled at Barb with a smile Nancy rarely got from him anymore.  “Thanks again for the calligraphy.  It was awesome.”

 

Barb took the paper, eyes wide.  She looked surprised, then hesitant, as if he was pulling her leg.  “It was?”

 

Mike nodded vigorously.  “Dustin said it was ‘beautiful’ and I could tell Will liked it too.”  He gestured to the piece of paper.  “We all signed it.  Thanks again.”

 

Barb smiled back at him, radiant.  “No problem, buddy.  You’re welcome.”

 

Then Mike pounded back down to the basement.

 

Barb smiled down at the thank you card before setting it aside on the table.  Then she looked over at Nancy and studied her friend’s face for a moment.

 

Nancy felt self-conscious under this scrutiny.  “What?”

 

“You don’t have to look so worried.  He probably just wants to talk.  He’s probably not going to ask about abortion.”  Barb sighed.  “Sorry about that though, I didn’t know he was there.”

 

Nancy smiled ruefully.  “It’s no big deal.  We don’t really tattle on each other anymore.”  _Symbiotic relationship_ , she thought.  “Hopefully he just wants something from me.  His questions are getting more horrible every time.”

 

“Like what do you mean?”

 

Nancy checked to make sure her brother wasn’t still lingering around, eavesdropping.  “Like I don’t think I’ve ever wanted out of a conversation more than when he asked me to explain periods and sanitary napkins.”

 

Barb clapped a hand to her mouth and laughed.  “Well at least that’s something you know about.  We all got separated in fifth grade and learned all about that.  Mike and the Nerd Squad have that this spring, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Nancy grinned.  “And then we can get the definitive answer to what on earth the boys talk about while the girls are busy being grossed out.”

 

“You trust Mike to tell you what they talked about?”

 

“Sure.  But also, that Dustin kid will take notes.  I’ll just ask to read them.”

 

Barb laughed again.  “Maybe I can transcribe them into ‘beautiful’ Calligraphy.  You haven’t lived until you’ve seen the words “wet dreams,” “jocks,” and “cups” laid out in hairline strokes with flourishes.”  Barb made a fancy face and stuck out her pinky.

 

Nancy smiled half-heartedly, then sighed.  “But sometimes I don’t know what to say to him.  The last time he cornered me for a ‘serious conversation’ it was to try to get the definitions of some of the words he and the Nerd Squad get called.  How am I supposed to explain the difference between being called a ‘pussy’, and a ‘fairy’, and a ‘fag’?”

 

Barb’s smile fell away.  “Maybe we shouldn’t call them the Nerd Squad.”  She looked down at the thank you card they had made her.  “They’re going to get eaten alive in Junior High.”

 

“I know.  That’s why I worry about what he wants to talk to me about.”

 

Barb rolled her eyes.  “You’re overthinking it.  Maybe he just misses you.”

 

Nancy frowned.  “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, you said yourself your Mom has been all busy lately with the pregnancy and getting the new baby’s room ready, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, maybe he’s just lonely.”

 

Nancy took a second to consider this.  She and Mike had been stuck in a cycle of annoyance and snarkiness with one another, until recently.  But thinking back on it, when **_had_** the cease fire started?

 

Barb was right.  Ever since Mom announced she was pregnant and began spending so much time getting ready for the baby, Mike had been lighter with her – more present and communicative.  Not like the ever-present shadow he’d been when they were little, but somehow more than someone to shove out of the way when fighting for bathroom time.  Not quite a friend, but maybe more than the annoying person she shared space with. 

 

Nancy thought it was possible Mike needed someone to talk to.  Her Mom was busy all the time now, and she couldn’t picture Mike talking to Dad about the definition of pussies **_or_** periods.

 

Barb slipped on her jacket and grabbed up the thank you card.  “Besides, don’t you wish we had someone older and wiser to ask about stuff?  I mean, someone **_not_** our parents?”

 

Nancy nodded emphatically and thought, _Yeah, and the first question I would ask is: what is a ‘hickey’ and why would I want one?_

 

            ---

 

Nancy looked skeptically at the pointy Spock ears Mike had placed gently in her hand.  They lay there like a pair of dead, flesh colored fish.

 

Nancy was seated on Mike’s bed, while he sat at his little desk with a notebook full of papers in front of him.  Three little metal figures were set carefully to the side.

 

Mike was ready for bed and they were in his room, in case their parents came home earlier than expected.  That way he could jump under the covers and she could turn off the light.  Then it would look like he’d gone to bed at a decent time.

 

“And you want me to do what now?”

 

Mike gave her a hopeful smile.  “Next Saturday, you know I’m having a sleepover, right?”

 

She nodded.  He’d been bugging Mom about it for ages, and finally Mom had given in.

 

“So it’ll be the last session of our current campaign, and I was really hoping you could help me out . . . .”  He trailed off and looked down like he didn’t want to continue.

 

Nancy had helped him before of course.  She had suggested the folded pages and tea staining to make paper look like old parchment.  And she also helped him out once this summer, when she caught him the basement playing with fire.

 

She had come downstairs to look for a shirt in the laundry when she found Mike with a lighter trying to artfully burn some paper.  She had yelled at him and snatched the lighter out of his hand demanding an explanation.  Mike had explained how he had written some “clues” for his game and one of the characters was going to try to burn the evidence in the fire.  So he had cut out certain passages the boys were going to “find” in the fireplace so they could interpret them.  Mike wanted the paper to look partially burned, so it would look “realistic”. 

 

That day she had taken him up to the kitchen sink and shown him how to carefully burn the papers, so that it looked good.  She had helped him more out of a sense of self-preservation, than of sisterly love.  She didn’t need Mike burning down her house just to make an authentic prop for his stupid game.

 

So there was precedent of her helping him.  And she recalled telling him if he was ever going to do something that stupid again, to make sure and ask for help.

 

She raised her eyebrows at him.  “This isn’t another time where you want to **_burn_** something is it?”

 

“No,” he hastily said.  “Nothing like that.”  He chuckled and flipped through his binder.  He found the burned up fragments in what looked like one of his plastic comic book sleeves.  He held the sleeve up to her proudly.  “That was really cool though.  Great way to give them a clue, right?”

 

Nancy gave him a “get on with it” look.

 

 “N-no,” he stammered.  “Not about a prop this time.  I was hoping you would help me out by playing the part of the Elf Princess Enelya.”

 

She was shaking her head before he even finished the sentence.  “No way.”

 

Mike got down on his knees in front of her, as if begging in the street.  “Please, please, please Nance?  I really need you.” 

 

She frowned down at him.  “Don’t you do your own voices, though?”

 

Mike nodded.  He clasped his hands together.  Now it looked like he was praying. “But this is **_too_** important!  This is the resolution to the whole campaign, and the Princess is going to reward each member of the party.  And she has to be wise and tall and powerful and . . . “

 

Mike paused, no longer meeting her eyes.  “And pretty.  And you could do it great.”

 

Nancy regarded this flattery with the same skepticism she held for the rubber ears she was still holding.  She looked down at him and searched his face, unsure if he was being sincere, or if he was only using flattery as a tactic.  She couldn’t really tell anything except it was clear he **_really_** wanted her to do this.

 

She slapped his shoulder.  “Get up, dummy.  C’mere.”

 

He got up and sat on the bed beside her.  She looked over at him in his t-shirt and filmy jammie pants, and he looked little to her again, like he used to.  “Mike, I don’t know your game well enough,” she said slowly.  “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

 

Mike gave her a quizzical look.  Then he took a deep breath and began babbling.  “Well, I wrote it all out for you.  Like a script.  All you have to do is read it.  I know you know how to read.  And I’ve seen you in plays.  I know you can do great.  And you don’t have to memorize it.  And  . . .”

 

He was in full-on fast talking mode, and probably would have kept going, but she held up a hand.  “Wait.  You have like a script written out?”

 

“Sure.”  He ran to the desk and pulled out a sheaf of papers, and handed them to her.  “You’re Princess Enelya.”

 

She started to read what he wrote.  She smiled and asked, “And who is this Aerandir that I’m talking to?”

 

“He’s kind of like your underling.  He’s like a useless brown noser.”

 

“And that’s you?  You’re playing Aerandir?”

 

Mike nodded.

 

“I’m pretty mean to you.  I yell at you,” Nancy said, pointing to the offending paragraph.

 

Mike smile disappeared and he pursed his lips together.  “Well I know you can do both of those things too.”

 

Nancy gave him a look, trying to see if he was really upset or not. 

 

Before she could say anything Mike continued.  “Besides the guys all **_hate_** Aerandir, so he’s just getting what he deserves in terms of the story.”

 

Nancy kept reading.  She felt a sense of déjà vu as she read.  “This reminds me of _Star Wars_ ,” she said.  “Like I’m Princess Leia giving people awards at the end.”

 

Mike nodded.  “It **_is_** like that, a little.  It’s more **_an homage_** to the Gifts of Galadriel section from _The Lord of the Rings_.”

 

“An ‘homage’ huh?” Nancy grinned.  _He’s trying to impress me by using big words_ , she thought.  She had tried to read _The Lord of the Rings_ at Mike’s urging, but she could never get past the endless songs and descriptions of feasts to really get into it.

 

As she deciphered more of Mike’s horrible handwriting, she knew she was going to give in and play the Elf Princess. 

 

Nancy had never paid much attention or tried to understand Dungeons and Dragons.  She always thought it was an excuse to get together and roughhouse.  Or to play some wish-fulfillment game so the boys could be fearsome warriors and kill everything in sight.  But even if that **_was_** part of it, Nancy knew from reading Mike’s script, there was more to it than that. 

 

Sure, this was the end of a story like Mike said.  But it was also a love letter from Mike to his friends.  Or to their characters.  Or both.  And Nancy knew “love letter” wasn’t really the right phrase.  Maybe “tribute?”  She didn’t know exactly.  But she understood why Mike wanted someone else to be the one to say these words out loud.

 

Mike sat at his desk, watching her read his words.  He still looked nervous.  She gave him a fond smile.  “So then I’m going to reward each of the characters?  The Princess helps them?”

 

“Exactly.  They’ll all get something in game.   And then, you’ll give them the new minis I got for each of them.  That’s the real-life gift.”

 

He reached over and picked up the new minis and came over to sit with her on the bed again.  He put the ears on his bedstand and carefully handed her the three metal miniatures.

 

She looked between the miniatures and the script, comparing the details Mike listed.

 

“And you bought these for your friends?”

 

Mike nodded.

 

“Jeez, Mike, you’ve never gotten **_me_** anything this nice.  Or Mom and Dad for that matter.”

 

Mike looked sheepish.  “Sorry.  I can think of another way to pay you back though.  I could do a chore for you?  Or next time Dad wants to drag one of us fishing I could volunteer to go?  You name it.”

 

She felt a surge of affection at his goofy grin.  “How about you just owe me a favor?”

 

“Deal.  So you’ll do it?”

 

“Yes.  But maybe can we change or shorten some of these lines?”

 

“What did you have in mind?”

 

Nancy told him her ideas and they talked through the script for the next little while.  Mike was enthusiastic about Nancy’s suggestions and agreed that her ideas made the dialogue sound more “grown up” than what he’d written.  Nancy also tried to fancy up the language so it sounded more old-fashioned and formal.  When Mike agreed to the changes, Nancy penciled them in along the margins.  

 

When they had worked through the whole script together, Mike rubbed his eyes and tried to suppress a yawn.  Nancy took that as a sign to call it a night.  She gathered up the script pages, the miniatures, and the fake ears and deposited everything on his desk and told him to get into bed.

 

Mike slid under the covers and she turned off the overhead light, leaving only the reading lamp on his bedstand lit.  Then she came to sit on the bed near his feet.

 

“Thank you again for doing this.”

 

“No problem.  We have a whole week to prepare, but now you need to get some sleep.  They’ll be home any minute and you should have been in bed a while ago.  Remember to fake it when they come to check on you.”

 

“I will.”

 

Then Nancy remembered what Barb had said, and asked, just to make sure.  “And was this all you wanted to talk about?  The campaign?  Or was there something else?”

 

“Well actually, you know how Mom said that after this one she wouldn’t have any more babies?”

 

Nancy nodded.  Mom had said that.  “What about it?”

 

“Well, I heard her on the phone the other day and she said she was sure she wouldn’t have any more because Dad was getting ‘snipped’.”

 

This was news to Nancy, but she didn’t let it show on her face.  “And that’s what you wanted to ask about?”

 

“Yeah,” said Mike, nodding seriously, with a confused look on his face.  One of his hands went to rest on his crotch, and he asked with a pained expression, “What the hell is Dad having snipped off?”

 

Nancy had no earthly idea how to answer this question.  But Mike looked so scared and appalled at where his mind was taking him that Nancy started to giggle.

 

Then Mike started to giggle too.

 

And they stayed that way, laughing and talking softly until they heard their parents return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Double thanks to anyone who has a question or a comment and posts it below. I always enjoy feedback.   
> I don’t have any colored and crumpled up paper to look like parchment, but like the boys, you are all invited back next week for the next chapter which details the epic conclusion of The Elder Tree Campaign.


	6. The Elder Tree Campaign: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an eventful week for some of The Party, the night of the sleepover has arrived. Nancy keeps her promise and helps with the epic conclusion to The Elder Tree Campaign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the place I put chapter specific warnings that don't rise to the level of AO3's archive warnings:
> 
> Chapter Five warnings:  
> Period accurate language not acceptable in today's world (potentially including sexist, racist, ableist, and/or homophobic language).
> 
> Depiction of verbal and physical schoolyard bullying.
> 
> Historical description of a racist lynching.
> 
> Explicit language and crude humor throughout.

Will Byers left early for the Wheeler house. 

 

He was excited for the sleepover and the end of the D&D campaign, of course, but that wasn’t the real reason he found himself pedaling lazily to Mike’s house a full hour before he was expected.

 

His parents were fighting.  Again.  And loud enough to be scary.  Enough for him to want to leave.

 

When they fought, or when his Dad was in a bad mood, Will just made sure he was around Jonathan.  Either finding some excuse to drag Jonathan into his own room, or going to Jonathan’s room before his brother got sick of the racket and slammed his bedroom door.

 

They would listen to music or just hang out together.  The best thing about hanging out with Jonathan was he didn’t really pressure Will to talk.  They could hang out in silence and it wasn’t awkward or strange at all.  It wasn’t like he had problems talking to Jonathan, he really didn’t, but it was nice sometimes to sit in comfortable silence or listen to music.

 

Will didn’t really feel that way about anyone else.  Spending time with his Dad was like walking a conversational mine-field.  Will was always worried about what topic would set Dad off.  Or what word or phrase Mom or Jonathan would innocently use to send Dad down the rabbit hole.  Then Dad would start in on one of his curse-laden ramblings about all that was wrong with the world. 

 

Will never seemed to say the right thing, no matter how hard he tried.  He had once been happily telling what he thought was a funny story about how Dustin always said “for the record” and Mike and Lucas got so annoyed and tried to point out that there was no record.  But this had somehow started Dad down this path of hating lawyers and judges.  Which turned into hating **_all_** the rich and educated people in the town.  In the world. 

 

Sometimes Will just gave up and tried to say as little as possible around Dad except “yes sir” and “no sir”.  Those were the safest phrases that Will knew.

 

Mom wasn’t much better.  With Mom, it was always questions, questions, questions.  Will thought she meant well.  Will believed his Mom thought expressing interest in his life was a way of expressing love.  But sometimes it got to be a little much.  Like an oral exam you hadn’t prepared for or a weird game of twenty questions there was no way to win.  Or end.

 

It was especially awkward around the dinner table when Mom peppered Will and Jonathan with questions while they both stole glances at each other and Dad, trying to figure out what they should and shouldn’t say.

 

When his folks really started going at it today, Will had sought out Jonathan with the excuse that he wanted his brother’s help packing for the sleepover.  Jonathan had taken off his headphones, and helped Will pack up the larger camping-style backpack.  The same backpack Will used for the first time, when he and Dad and Jonathan went hunting last month. 

 

It was camo green and old and drab, but it held a ton, and had all these cool little pouches and pockets and loops to hold things.  Then Jonathan insisted on showing Will how to roll up his sleeping bag and attach it with the straps on the top of the backpack.

 

While Will watched Jonathan struggle with the sleeping bag and backpack, he considered telling his brother he didn’t really need the sleeping bag.  He usually didn’t bring one to Mike’s house.  But he was enjoying the company, so he didn’t bother.  The Wheelers had a full set of sleeping bags and so many pillows and blankets, Will rarely brought his own to their house.  Mike had a specific Peanuts sleeping bag, along with an extra blanket and pillow in his bedroom closet he referred to as being ”Will’s”.  Will thought he might be getting too old to love Snoopy as much as he did, but he still really liked it each time Mike said something like, “go get **_your_** sleeping bag and pillow.”

 

It was hard to get his parents to okay his first sleepover all those years ago.  Jonathan was a great brother in many ways, but maybe he wasn’t so good at breaking in their parents for all the things Will wanted to do.  Lucas always said that was part of his job, to pave the way for Erica, so she would have an easier time doing all the things their parents resisted.

 

Somehow or another, Jonathan hadn’t gone to any sleepovers by the time Will got his first invitation from the Wheelers.  His parents thought it was a little weird that only two months into kindergarten Will was already getting overnight invites. Jonathan, on the other hand, must have been around eight or so, and had never slept away from home.  It had taken a lot of begging, Will remembered, but in the end, his parents had given in.  Mike always said it helped that his Mom had known Will’s parents when they were younger.  Will didn’t have the heart to tell Mike his Dad never had anything nice to say about Mike’s Mom or Dad.

 

At first the sleepovers were just Will and Mike.  And it didn’t take long for Will to wear down his Mom and get permission to host a sleepover at their house once in a while.  Mike and Will each had their own room and beds big enough to share. Sometimes they made elaborate forts out of blankets and pillows.  Normally Will would direct, and Mike, who was a little taller, would be in charge of climbing and hanging things.  Will enjoyed this type of activity and had secretly started sketching a wooden fort he wanted to make out in the woods. 

 

_I don’t think Dad will allow it though.  But maybe someday_.

 

When Lucas came along, they rotated another friend into the mix.  Mike still liked sleepovers at his own house best, and Will and Lucas secretly agreed with him.  The Byers and Sinclair homes were much stricter than the Wheeler home, and they could get away with a lot more and stay up way later at Mike’s.  However the Mom Spy Network had its way, so the location rotated enough for it not to seem totally one-sided. 

 

Now Dustin’s house had joined the schedule as well, and there were enough of them, and they were big enough, that they had spilled out into other areas of the houses sometimes.  This was easiest to fix at Mike’s as the boys had pretty much taken over the basement.  In the dead of winter the basement was too cold, so they piled into Mike’s bedroom or split up with two in Mike’s bedroom and two in the guest room.  Will didn’t know what they would do now that the guest room was made up to be the new baby’s room, but it didn’t matter tonight since it was still warm enough to sleep in the basement.

 

Will loved different things about staying over at each of his friend’s houses.  When the Sinclair family hosted, Will knew he would be in for some great food and would get to talk to a Dad who actually **_talked_** to them like real people.  He couldn’t remember ever feeling really listened to or understood when he talked to his own Dad or Mike’s Dad. 

 

Dustin’s house was crazy-fun.  He was the only one besides Will who had pets, and Dustin also had a cool bedroom door that slid into the wall like something out of _Star Wars_.  Dustin’s Mom was a riot and there were barely any rules.  They never seemed to get in trouble for the messes and things they **_always_** got in trouble for at all the other houses.  Plus Mrs. Henderson always let them watch TV.

 

By the time Jonathan finished showing Will how to roll up the sleeping bag and attach it to the top of the backpack, he started to wonder if he’d be able to handle the big backpack on his bike.  Even if he couldn’t, Will was always grateful when Jonathan took the time to teach him something.

 

“Thanks Jonathan,” Will said while giving Jonathan a little side hug.

 

“No problem, buddy.”

 

Then Will heard what sounded like a cabinet door slamming followed by more yelling.  His parents had moved their argument from the bedroom to the kitchen, apparently.

 

Will checked the clock and saw it was too early to head to Mike’s, so he grasped at something else he could suggest to keep Jonathan from leaving him alone.  “Hey, are the papers here yet?  I could help you with the inserts.”

 

Jonathan had gotten a paper route a while ago.  He complained that it was one of the only jobs someone his age could legally get.  Will thought Jonathan sounded like Dad when he complained about the stupid rules and laws that wouldn’t let him get a “real job”, but Will never said that out loud.  One of the only times Will had seen his brother get truly angry, was when Mom yelled at Jonathan, “You’re just like your father!”

 

Will knew she hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but even so, Jonathan’s reaction had been as super-sized as a Mega Big Gulp.  It was the only time he could remember being afraid of Jonathan.

 

Will didn’t really understand why Jonathan even wanted to get a job, except for the nebulous concept of a “paycheck.”  But Jonathan had gotten the job all on his own and hadn’t asked Mom and Dad for help.  When Dad found out, Will could tell that Dad was impressed with Jonathan in some way.  Dad looked at Jonathan not with love, but with something approaching respect.  There was a horrible little part of Will that was jealous Jonathan had earned that look from Dad.  And there was also an angry part because Jonathan didn’t even seem to care.  If Will had been able to earn a look like that, he knew **_he_** would care.  That it would **_mean_** something.

 

But Dad never helped Jonathan with the paper route, no matter how bad the weather was, or how fat with inserts the papers got. 

 

Sunday was the big issue of the paper in Hawkins and every Saturday Jonathan got the papers.  Along with the papers came a huge packet of inserts and advertisements Jonathan had to collate and roll up **_in_** the papers.  Will always volunteered to help Jonathan with these, and sometimes Mom did too.  They made a fun game out of it.  But only when Dad wasn’t home.

 

Mom would dig out her records, and she would blast Abba or The Monkees or The Carpenters.  Then she would open the papers one by one in a line coming from Jonathan’s bedroom and laying them all the way down the hall and into the living room.  And it was Will and Jonathan’s job to each take an insert and race along the line of papers putting one down on each of the papers.  The trick was getting it done quickly, but not **_so_** fast that they goofed up the papers.  The only problem was keeping Chester from messing them up.  Sometimes, he had to be tied up outside because the boys running up and down the hall got Chester so jazzed up that he’d run along with them, thinking they were playing a game.  And Chester didn’t avoid the papers **_at all_**.

 

Once they got all the inserts into the middle of the papers, they would roll them up and rubber band them, and pile them into one of Jonathan’s large delivery bags. 

 

Jonathan always groaned and rolled his eyes every time Mom pulled one of them into a hug and sang at them: “Your love put me on the top of the world,” or “just like me, they long to be close to you”.  Jonathan sometimes called Will “Mama’s boy” when Will leaned into Mom’s hugs or sang and danced along with her.  Once, when Will was having a really bad day, he felt intensely that Jonathan was **_really_** making fun of him, and that Jonathan calling him “mama’s boy” meant the same thing his Dad called him.  Or what Troy called him at school.  So, Will had snapped back, “Better than Papa’s boy!” 

 

But he had only said that once, because Jonathan’s face had tightened and darkened and his Mom looked sad.  Will thought about it later and decided it wasn’t the same as the other names he got called sometimes.  He thought Jonathan was calling him “baby” more than “sissy” or “fairy”.  And Will **_was_ **technically the baby of the family, so he decided to let it go.  And the next time Jonathan called him that, Will just stuck out his tongue over Mom’s shoulder while he hugged and shimmied with her, and left it at that.

 

The cool thing about the paper route was Jonathan was really good at saving his money up.  Will rarely had any money, but when he did have it, he spent it on little things: a comic here, some candy there, or a book or a cool pencil set if he had access to some bills rather than just loose change.  But Jonathan had already saved up enough to buy a cool stereo system that had two cassette players right next to each other.   Jonathan could make mix tapes with it from other tapes or from stuff he recorded off the radio. 

 

Jonathan said the next thing he was saving up for was a “better” camera.  Mom always let Jonathan use hers and brought him film from work to use, but Jonathan wanted a more “professional” one.  Will thought Jonathan’s pictures were already really good, but he admired Jonathan’s will power when it came to saving money.

 

Will looked hopefully at his brother, waiting for him to jump at the chance to get some help with the inserts.  Before Jonathan could answer, there was another loud bang from the other side of the house, and Will gave a little involuntary flinch.

 

“You know,” Jonathan said thoughtfully, “I bet Mike could use some help getting set up for this big sleepover of yours.  If you get there early you can help him come up with a blanket fort big enough to hold all of you.  What do you think?”

 

Will eyed Jonathan doubtfully.  “Are you sure?  I don’t have to leave yet.  I can stay here and help you.” 

 

The yelling got even louder.  Jonathan’s eyes flicked to the door as they both listened to Mom and Dad come stomping down the hall.

 

Dad yelled, “Don’t you walk away from me!”

 

Mom yelled right back.  “I need a cigarette, if that’s alright with you.  You are so impossible sometimes.”

 

They heard Mom go into the bedroom and slam the door.

 

Then they heard Dad grunt, kick the wall, and go into the bathroom and slam **_that_** door.

 

Jonathan quickly snatched up the backpack.  “Now is a good time for you to head out.  And I’ll come with you to make sure you can handle this monstrosity on your bike, okay?”

 

Jonathan was always helping him like that.  Giving some excuse to go with Will, when Will knew Jonathan was really helping to usher him safely through the house.  Will appreciated it, but it was weird.  It was something he never talked about with Jonathan and had never thanked him for.  And Will didn’t think he could ever talk about it with any of his friends either.  He didn’t want them to think he was a wimp or be scared to come over.  But he just couldn’t think of a way to explain how sometimes -- **_only sometimes_** \-- he didn’t feel safe in his own home.

 

Jonathan hurried him outside and Will got on his bike.  Jonathan helped get him situated with the backpack.  Will marveled at how easy it seemed.  Jonathan had packed it evenly, so its weight didn’t drag him to one side or the other.  And if Will simply sat forward a little on his bike seat, it all fit just fine.  Will could tell he would be okay riding with the backpack.

 

“What time will you be home?”

 

Will shrugged.  “Tomorrow afternoon, sometime.”  He looked over at the quiet house.  “Don’t I need to tell them I’m going?”

 

“I’ll tell them.  If they need you, they’ll call.  Mom never hesitates to call you there, does she?”

 

This was true.  Will remembered several times she had called to tell him good night at one sleepover or another, and he had to tell her he loved her while the guys watched and snickered and made kissy faces at him.

 

So Will thanked Jonathan again, and set off for the Wheeler house.

 

            ---

 

Lucas Sinclair stood in his backyard with his fists up in front of his face.

 

His Dad nodded his approval and said, “Good.  Then try to stand with your knees bent, it’ll help keep you balanced.”

 

Lucas shifted his feet slightly.

 

“Your fists are good.  Keep the thumbs on the outside against your knuckles.  Just tuck your elbows in tight against your body.”

 

Dad reached over and pushed Lucas’s elbows in so they were more perpendicular to the ground and held closer to his abdomen.

 

“Last thing, tuck your chin down a little.”

 

Dad demonstrated this by adopting the same pose Lucas was currently holding and then tipping his chin down just a hair.

 

“All of this reduces the areas of your face and tummy that someone can easily hit.  You understand?”

 

“Yes sir,” Lucas agreed automatically.

 

“Good boy.  If you had been standing like that, it would have been harder for that boy to give you this.”  Dad reached out gently and touched Lucas’s still-bruised cheek.

 

Lucas winced more out of surprise and embarrassment than actual pain. 

 

_I thought the bruise had gone down a lot by now, but I guess it’s still noticeable_.

 

Last week Lucas had gotten into it with Troy and James during recess and gotten a punch to the face for his troubles.

 

Troy and James had cornered Dustin against the “Big Toy” – which was what everyone called the big installation of playground equipment made of wood and metal.  On one end it had metal slides, on the other end it had cool tire swings, and the middle was multiple levels of a wood structure with stairs and ladders.  The coolest thing was that in the middle of it all, there was what amounted to a two-level high nylon rope pit. 

 

The boys often used the pit as the trash compactor when they played _Star Wars_.  It was great to play around in there.  The only problem they ever encountered was dividing up the characters.  There were only four characters in the trash compactor scene and there were four of them, but no one **_ever_** wanted to be Leia.

 

The day of the fight, Mike and Will had gone around the side of the school to where some of the other playground equipment was, including the monkey bars and the swings.  Lucas thought the swings were for the younger kids, but every once in a while Mike and Will wanted to go use them anyway.   Dustin had joked to Lucas once that he thought Mike just got tired of all the running around and wanted to find a place he could sit down.

 

So Mike and Will were around the building, and Lucas was taking his turn on the tire swing.  Which is why Dustin was all alone when James and Troy started to mess with him.

 

Lucas didn’t see all of it, but as he was spinning in the tire swing at a barf-inducing speed, he caught sight of the bigger boys hovering around Dustin.  Dustin did what he always did, which was try to escape.  But he made the mistake of backing toward the Big Toy, rather than just running away from it.  Lucas saw James push Dustin over to Troy, who then pushed him back towards James, and they kept pushing him back and forth, ever closer to one of the wooden posts that anchored the Big Toy.  There were eight of these giant wooden posts, and each had large metal bolts poking out of them periodically with large metal nuts fastening the bolts in place.   

 

Lucas didn’t remember even thinking about it.  He had just leapt off the still spinning tire swing, and ran over to his friend.  By the time he got there, they had Dustin pushed against the post, and Lucas was sure the metal bits were sticking painfully into Dustin’s back.  Lucas was also sure Troy and James knew that too.

 

“He just got hurt on the Big Toy,” was a frequent excuse of the bigger kids when they were too rough with the younger ones.  And Lucas had logged enough actual injuries on the Big Toy to understand why the adults found this a believable excuse.  Lucas himself had been knocked over by a tire swing full of three sixth grade girls, hurt his knee on one of the metal ladders, and suffered  nylon rope burns once when he had fallen in the rope pit.  Nothing major.  But when kids came in all scraped up, it was easy to believe it was just an accident and nothing more.

 

As Lucas approached, he heard what Troy was saying to Dustin.

 

“And you’ll never be anything but a fat, midget, freak!”

 

Troy punctuated this with one final shove, pushing Dustin back into the wooden post.  Lucas could see Dustin wince in pain, and could tell from his friend’s face that tears were on their way.  Lucas was willing to bet Troy’s words caused Dustin more pain than the bolts.

 

“Hey!”  Lucas shouted.  “That’s enough!”

 

James immediately backed off, without seeing who was yelling at them, apparently not willing to get into any trouble for picking on Dustin.

 

But Troy was not so easily scared off, either because he didn’t feel he was doing anything wrong, or because he knew there were no adults around and it was another kid yelling at him.  He turned and regarded Lucas with a smirk.

 

“Aww . . . Toothless called his little pet Coon over to protect him.”

 

Lucas had several sensations at once.  His eyes narrowed and his whole body tensed.  His lips curled in a snarl and it seemed like all he could hear was the sound of ocean waves, like the loudest seashell noises of all time were being broadcast directly into his brain.  He snapped, “Leave him alone!”

 

Troy just shrugged, smiled, and backed away from Dustin, allowing Lucas to pass.  Lucas made his way to his friend. 

 

“We weren’t doing anything, we were only talking,” Troy sneered.  “Like about his job opportunities in the future.  I think he’s going to make a great sideshow freak.  Maybe he can bite the heads off chickens if those teeth ever come in.”

 

Troy turned to James and laughed, and it was clear they were going to leave them alone.  They were heading slowly back towards the front of the school, still laughing.

 

When recounting the story to his parents later, they concluded that **_this_** was where Lucas had made his mistake.  His Mom said, exasperated, “You already won at that point, they were going away.”  And Dad told him, “His parting shots were just his face-saving mechanism.  Let him save face.  Let him have the last word and let him go.”

 

But that isn’t what Lucas had done.  With the word “coon” still echoing in his mind, like a horrible skipping record, Lucas glared at Troy’s back and said softly, “Eat shit, you fucking retard.”

 

Troy stopped moving on “shit” and turned back to face Lucas on “fucking”.  By the time “retard” left his lips, Lucas was sure the war of words with Troy was about to start again.

 

But then, so fast, faster than Lucas thought possible, Troy closed the distance and punched Lucas in the face, hard.  Lucas fell back into Dustin and went down into the hard packed sand that surrounded the Big Toy.

 

Lucas had never been punched in the face before.  His head rang, and his vision blurred.  He tasted bitter copper in his mouth.  He gagged and it took a moment to understand that he bit his tongue.  That was the source of the blood. 

 

It was a day of firsts for Lucas.  First face punch.  Then, worse than the physical shock and pain of the punch, was the first time in his life Lucas feared, **_really feared_** , what another person was about to do to him.  Hurt him?  Make him bleed?  Break his bones? 

 

Part of him wanted to cry, but he was no baby, and his vision was blurry enough already.

 

He watched as Troy stepped closer, and struggled to get up to face him.  Lucas was amazed but thankful as Dustin stepped between Lucas and Troy.  Dustin had his hands up, palm out, and kept saying, “Whoa, whoa,” over and over as if it meant something.  As if Troy was a horse who had only mastered simple commands.

 

Lucas had no idea what would have happened next, because the bell rang, abruptly ending lunch recess.

 

Troy’s head flicked instantly towards the school, as if belatedly realizing some adult may have seen this exchange.  He whispered furiously, “Saved by the bell, Midnight.  Don’t go telling anyone about this.”

 

Then he turned on his heels and ran to catch up with James to line up at the front of the school.

 

Dustin hauled Lucas to his feet.  “Are you okay?  Do you need the nurse?”

 

Lucas shook him off angrily and snapped, “I’m fine.  I’m not going to the God-damned nurse.”

 

Lucas knew now, after talking to his Dad, that his snapping at Dustin was a “face saving mechanism.”  Lucas hadn’t really been mad at Dustin.  But while he suffered through the rest of the school day, feeling twinges of pain from his wounded face and wounded pride, he did let himself **_feel_** mad at Dustin.  For not running away.  For being such a target.  Such a victim.  And Lucas saved some of his free-floating anger for Will and Mike who had nagged him like they were Moms-in-training.  Asking if he was okay and if he needed anything, and didn’t he think he should tell someone?

 

It was annoying.  But Lucas pushed down these feelings because he knew it wasn’t fair, and he knew he wasn’t really mad at his friends anyway.  They were just trying to help in the ways they knew how.  And at least his friends had noticed and helped him clean up.  His teacher, Miss Garvin, either didn’t notice or didn’t care.  He never did see the nurse or talk about it with any adult until his Mom saw the bruise on his cheek.  And then she had wordlessly steered him into the bathroom, examined his cheek and jaw and tongue, and made sure he didn’t need the doctor.  Lucas had already decided he didn’t need any medical attention, but it was honestly a relief to hear the same conclusion from his Mom.

 

And much later, once Erica went to bed, he and Mom and Dad had this whole discussion about it.  Lucas had shut them down fast.  Stating he wasn’t hurt, and he wouldn’t tell them who did it, and he didn’t want them contacting the school.  They had made him tell the story though.  Enough to hear he’d been called a slur.  Not the worst one.  Not **_that_** word.  If he’d been called **_that_** word, they would’ve definitely called the school.

 

It was silly, really.  They didn’t understand how much he heard the word already.  There were several playground fight chants with the N-word, plus a jump-rope rhyme that used it.  It’s not like it was never said around school.  But Lucas had promised long ago to tell them if anyone called him that.  For whatever reason it was a line in the sand for his folks, and he knew if it ever happened they would call the school and the other kid’s parents, and there would be this whole big **_thing_**.

 

He also admitted he’d talked back to Troy and that’s when Troy hit him.  That was when they launched into various long-winded speeches about how to end conflict without violence and how to “de-escalate” a situation.  And that was when Dad suggested he just let his bully “save face” by insulting Dustin as he walked away, with literally no consequences.

 

The whole conversation with his parents just made Lucas even madder.  It made him feel like he shouldn’t bother telling his parents the next time something like this happened.

 

And it **_would_** happen again.  Lucas was sure of it.

 

Lucas had heard his Dad and his Navy buddies use the phrase “target rich environment“ during a cookout they had last year.  It had stuck with Lucas.  And when your friend group consisted of one of the only black kids, the little quiet artsy kid, the kid with an unpronounceable disease plus a lisp, and the biggest dork in the known universe -- well, your friend group was the ultimate “target rich environment” for guys like Troy.

 

And Lucas knew it.

 

Erica called out for Mom, saving him from an even longer mandatory family sit-down.  And his aggravation with the whole situation must have shown on his face then, because Dad waited until Mom left the room and then asked, “If you don’t want our help to call the school or contact the kid’s parents, what **_can_** we do to help?”

 

Lucas had answered without thinking.  “Teach me how to fight so I can kick his ass next time.”

 

His parents didn’t really hold with cursing and Lucas thought he would instantly get in trouble.  Not just for swearing **_in front of_** his Dad, mind you, but directly **_to_** him.

 

But Dad only regarded Lucas thoughtfully.  “I’ll talk to your Mother and you and I will carve out a little one-on-one time on Saturday.  We can talk more then.  Man-to-Man.  That sound good?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Okay, go and get ready for bed then.  And you can skip brushing your teeth, until your tongue heals up, but rinse out your mouth, okay?”

 

So today Dad had suggested Mom and Erica go on a little shopping trip to give him and Lucas some time alone.  Then Dad had brought Lucas into the back yard.  Lucas had been excited at first, ready and willing to learn how to fight so that in the next encounter he’d come out on top.

 

And at first it had seemed like Dad was maybe teaching him how to fight.  But after too much time spent on defensive stances, and how to keep your arms up to protect your face and belly, Lucas saw the “training” for what it really was.  His Dad was not teaching him how to fight; he was teaching him how to take a punch.  Or at least take a punch without getting badly hurt.  Just as Lucas was coming to this conclusion and souring on the whole encounter, Dad confirmed it with his next statement.

 

“And if you’re expecting to get hit, you need to shut your mouth.  I don’t just mean no backtalk, I mean you need to shut your mouth and close your jaw and pull your tongue back from your teeth.  Otherwise you could hurt your tongue even worse.”

 

“I get you Dad.”  Lucas sighed and lowered his arms, his stance turning into a slouch.  “But you said we could talk, right?  Man-to man?  Did you mean it?”

 

Dad smiled down at him and chuckled.  “Man to **_little_** man, but sure.”

 

Then he did something Lucas pretended to hate, but secretly still enjoyed.  His Dad picked him up like he weighed nothing, tucked him lengthwise into the crook of his arm like a kid-shaped football and jogged him over to the picnic table.  Dad sat Lucas down on the table top so he’d be more at eye level and Dad sat on the bench.  His Dad regarded him seriously.  “You look like there’s something you want to say, but maybe you’re afraid to say it.  Hopefully it isn’t ‘ass’ again.”

 

Lucas swallowed hard, but Dad didn’t seem mad.  He was still smiling.  “I just don’t get all this,” Lucas said, gesturing to where they’d been standing.  “I’m already best friends with the most experienced punch taker in the world.  If I wanted pointers on how to take a punch I’d run ask Mike.  I asked you to show me how to **_fight_** , not be a better punching bag.”

 

Now it was Dad’s turn to sigh.  “Okay then.  Some real talk.  You’re right.  My purpose out here is not to teach you how to fight.  We don’t want you fighting.  Ever.  And we definitely don’t want you getting a reputation in this town for being the violent black boy or the one kid who tries to solve all his problems with his fists.”

 

“But why?  Don’t you think I could take him?”

 

“Maybe you could fight the one unnamed kid.  But then he would just come back with a friend or two. . . “

 

“But my friends . . .”

 

“Sure, maybe you guys could gang up and chase them off.  But then those bullies would just come back later.  And they could bring a bat.  Or a noose.”  His Dad paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.  “Groups of boys easily turn into gangs, which can turn into a mob.”

 

Lucas had heard this type of speech before.  Every perceived infraction or slightly naughty thing he did could get one or both of his parents into this whole black history lesson of why Lucas had to be better.  How being good and following the rules was an important way to stay safe.  And somehow or other there was always this implied threat of lynch mobs. 

 

Lucas **_hated_** it. 

 

He had heard his parents discussing the whole “one of the good ones” phenomenon with some of their relatives, and they had laughed about it as if it were silly. 

 

As if to say, _Those silly white folks and their casual racism.  Good times._

 

It didn’t make Lucas want to laugh at all.  It made him angry.  Lucas didn’t understand how they could make fun of this horrible attitude of the people surrounding them.  Then turn around and tell Lucas how they expected him to behave, which seemed to confirm the idea that blending in with the lilywhite people of Hawkins was a worthy goal. 

 

No matter what his parents said to their friends and families, sometimes Lucas thought all they wanted was for him was to be “one of the good ones”.

 

Once Lucas complained to his friends about how the possible threat of a lynching was always in his parents’ minds.  Lucas had gone on in the “my parents are worse than yours” tone they all used, and said, “I just want to yell at them that there haven’t been any lynchings **_in Indiana_** , and they have **_got_** to let it go.”

 

His three friends had looked so shocked and embarrassed and guilty that it was like he couldn’t even recognize them.  Like there was this huge gulf between them that had always existed, and the three of them were all used to, but Lucas had only just noticed. 

 

And Mike and Will, God love them, each tried in their own way.  Mike adopted his usual stance that parents and teachers and literally **_all_ **adults were simply **_the worst_.**  And Will retreated to empathy for both Lucas and his parents.

 

None of that helped. 

 

At least Dustin had come up with something concrete.  Dustin suggested, “Well, we better be sure of our facts before you say something like **_that_**.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I just mean let’s go to the library and make sure you’re right before you try to win an argument that way.  It shouldn’t take too long.  I’ll go with you, and if we have to, we can ask Miss Marissa for help.”

 

So Lucas accompanied Dustin to the library, and found out Dustin really knew his way around the kids and adult sections.  And all the staff seemed to know him by name.  And they hadn’t needed to ask the librarian for help.  Dustin was right, it didn’t take too long to find something out.  It was a good thing Dustin suggested doing research before arguing with his folks, because it didn’t take them long to find out there **_had_ **been lynchings of young black men in Indiana.

 

Dustin found a story of two black men who’d been lynched without trial in Marion, Indiana in 1930.  The book they found this in included a description of this incident where one of the men tried to free himself from the noose, so the crowd simply lowered him back down and broke his arms, to prevent any more escape attempts.  The description of the group of citizens watching the lynching included women and children.  And there was a picture to accompany the story.  Of two black boys hanging dead in the trees.

 

Dustin had looked sick to his stomach, and had taken the book gently away from Lucas and closed it quietly, but firmly.  “I know it wasn’t the answer you were hoping for, but it’s always better to **_know_** the answer.”

 

They sat in silence for a beat and then Dustin went on, “Maybe it’s better to just let your parents have this one.”

 

Lucas remembered just sitting there in stunned silence.  Not even registering what Dustin said.

 

Dustin continued talking, eager to fill the silence and trying very hard to be on Lucas’s side.  Dustin had even reached out to touch Lucas on the shoulder.  “But maybe you can still use this if you want to argue with them.  Just don’t say it never happened.  Just say that it hasn’t really happened since 1930.”  Dustin paused, like he was searching for words.  When Lucas finally turned to look at his friend, Dustin squeezed his shoulder gently.  “It was a long time ago.”

 

Lucas simply replied, “Not long enough.”

 

Thinking back to that conversation with Dustin, Lucas shifted closer to Dad on the picnic table so that he could feel the heat from Dad’s shoulder against his side.  Lucas knew that he’d been right.  Nineteen-thirty wasn’t long enough ago.  At least, not long enough to bring it up in an argument with his parents. 

 

_So I never brought it up at all.  I’m pretty sure I never will_.

 

But on this fall afternoon, it didn’t stop him feeling frustrated when his supposedly “grown up” talk with Dad came back to the same old thing.  But he forced the frustration down and said, “I know Dad.  You just want me to be safe.”

 

Dad pulled Lucas up against him.  “Part of keeping you safe is showing you how to **_stay_** safe when someone is willing to get physical with you.  But part of it is also keeping you out of situations where you even have to think about that.  I’ve talked with your Mother about this, and I want to check with you.  Do you want me to take you out of the public school?  You know you could go to Saint E’s, right?”

 

Dad was talking about the parochial school a couple towns over which was affiliated with their church.  But Lucas didn’t want to go to school in another town, or wear a uniform.  Or leave his friends.

 

“No way.  I like the school I’m in.”  Then, defensively, “And I’m getting good grades.”

 

“You’re doing better than that.  You’re doing great.”  Dad put that aside.  “Okay then, how about I ask you **_one_** last time to tell me who did this and let me call the school.”

 

“No way.  It wouldn’t even make any sense to report it now anyway so many days later.  Besides, I’m not a squealer.”

 

Dad kept his arm around Lucas and shook him affectionately.  “You know, I think I could get your friend to tell me who did it,” he said in a contemplative tone.

 

Lucas scoffed.  “Mike would never tell you **_anything_**.  He didn’t see it happen, anyway.”

 

“You’re right.  I was actually thinking of Dustin.  Isn’t he due here soon to pick you up for the sleepover?”

 

Lucas nodded slowly.

 

“Well, I figure I could get **_Dustin_** to tell me in about two-point-two seconds.”

 

Lucas pulled away from his Dad.  Not angrily.  Not **_exactly_** in a challenging way.  But in a way designed to show Lucas was just as willing to stand up to his Dad as he was to his bully.

 

“Maybe,” Lucas admitted.  “Maybe he would.  Or maybe he would run away from you just like he tried to run away from --”  Lucas stopped **_just_** short of accidentally saying Troy’s name.  “ -- like he tried to run away from the bully.  But if you cornered him, maybe he would just use logic on you. “

 

Dad smiled kindly.  “What do you think he would say?”

 

Lucas hopped down from the picnic table and stood in front of his father.  “He would say that I’m not hurt.  Not really.  And that I’m the one that got punched, and that if **_I_** don’t think it’s worth alerting the media, then maybe **_I’m_** in the best position to decide.”

 

“Sounds like Dustin has really put some thought into this.”

 

“He has,” Lucas acknowledged.  “And if something really bad happened, he would tell you.”  Lucas stopped hiding behind mystery pronouns then.   “ ** _I_** would tell you _._   I **_would_**.  If it was serious.  This . . .” Lucas gestured to his face, “this was nothing.”

 

“Okay.”  Dad stood too.  “Sounds like you have some loyal friends there.  Respecting your wishes.   Is that why you feel the need to insert yourself between them and these bullies in the first place?”

 

Lucas shrugged.  “What else am I supposed to do?  Just stand there and let them zero in on Will and Dustin and push them around?  No way.  That’s, like, unacceptable.  Is that what you want me to do, just walk away and let them paste Dustin or push Will down and make him cry?”

 

Dad shook his head.  “No.  That doesn’t sound like you.  I’m glad you guys stick together.  That’s smart.  And I’m glad you step in to try to protect your friends.”  Dad reached out to touch Lucas again, this time with a comforting hand on his back.   Lucas felt like ever since “the fight”, both his parents had been touching him more than usual.  But at the moment, he didn’t mind.

 

Dad looked at him seriously and continued, “You **_should_** protect your friends.  But Son, you need to make sure you protect **_yourself_** too.”

 

“I will, Dad.”

 

Lucas dutifully took the stance his father demonstrated earlier.  He checked off all the things Dad had shown him, like a list in his head.  Legs apart and set firmly.  Knees slightly bent to lower his center of gravity.  Arms tight against his torso.  Fists raised and guarding his face.  Mouth closed.  Head tilted slightly down.

 

Lucas nodded at his Dad.  Dad smiled and nodded back.

 

And Lucas knew he was acting like a dog performing a new trick for its owner.  And he hated himself a little for doing it.  But he did it anyway. 

 

Because Lucas had learned the hard way that sometimes teachers at school didn’t want to hear your original thoughts on a given subject.  Sometimes they only wanted you to vomit back the textbook as closely as possible.  And sometimes parents, even great parents like his, just wanted proof you were listening.  That they had managed to teach you **_something_**. 

 

And Lucas **_loved_** his Dad, even if he didn’t always understand him.  Or agree with him.  So Lucas gave him what he wanted.  What he maybe even needed, in order to let this go.  This demonstration that said, _I hear you_.  _I understand_.

 

They both turned their heads and Lucas dropped his arms when they heard Dustin pounding on their front door.  “Sinclairs!  Sinclairs!” he yelled.  “Are you home?  It’s me, Dustin!”

 

This was followed by more pounding.  It seemed insanely loud in the quiet autumn afternoon.

 

Dad gave Lucas a wink and said, “You’d better run and greet him before he busts down our door.”

 

            ---

 

Will kept trying to look away from Mrs. Wheeler’s distended belly, but his eyes kept returning to it again and again.  She was **_huge_**.  It was distracting.

 

Will had dawdled as much as he could, and finally rang the Wheeler’s doorbell.  He was hoping Mike or Nancy would be the one to come to the door, but no such luck.  After a wait long enough to make Will consider ringing the bell again, Mrs. Wheeler opened the door, one hand behind her, supporting her lower back. 

 

“Hey Honey, you’re early.” 

 

Then she got one of her piercing Mom looks like she was reading his mind or something.  She gave him a concerned look and asked, “Is everything okay?”

 

Will didn’t know what to say.  He swayed back and forth slightly, and wondered if he should just offer to come back at the right time.  Or mumble something about being excited for the big night.  Or burst into tears and tell her some edited version of the truth.  Mercifully, Will was saved from having to respond at all by Mike’s arrival.

 

Mike appeared behind his Mom, but she was blocking basically the whole doorway, so Mike ducked beneath her arm.  He tucked his right shoulder into her armpit, so his head peeked around, and used his left arm to reach across her large belly in weird sort of hug.

 

“Mom, what are you always saying about giving guests the third degree or leaving them standing out in the cold?”  Mike asked.  “Don’t you follow your own rules?”

 

Mrs. Wheeler’s arm tightened around her son, hugging him to her while she turned her piercing Mom gaze on Mike.  She was trying to sense if the two of them were up to shenanigans.

 

“It’s nice to know you listen to me sometimes.  I thought the invite was for an hour from now.”

 

Mike flashed his Mom a disarming smile.  “You’re right, but I just needed even more help to be ready in time.  So I asked Will to come over early.”

 

Will had long ago stopped being shocked when Mike lied to adults.  He knew better than to let his surprise at Mike’s B.S. show on his face.  He kept his expression neutral and his eyes on Mike.

 

Mrs. Wheeler raised her eyebrows.  “I didn’t hear you use the phone.”

 

Mike rolled his eyes then.  “The comms, Mom.  The comms.”

 

Will knew it was the eye roll that sold it.  If Mike had continued with the sweet “Mom’s little helper” act, Mrs. Wheeler would be suspicious.  But Mike’s annoyance that she forgot about the walkie-talkies seemed genuine.

 

“Ah yes,” she nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation.  To Will: “Well, come on in sweetie.”  To Mike: “Michael, help Will with that backpack.”

 

Mike dutifully reached out to take Will’s overloaded backpack, and Will followed them in, closing the door behind him.

 

Mike stayed quiet so Will followed suit, and they both watched Mrs. Wheeler waddle away.  Will had never been around a pregnant lady before the past nine months.

 

Mrs. Wheeler sometimes invited Will to stay for dinner.  Will thought these were pity invites when she knew he was going home to a mostly empty house or frozen TV dinners.  Will politely said “no thank you” most of the time, not wanting to leave Jonathan to eat all alone.  But sometimes, Mike would bug him to stay, or get him an invitation when he knew they were having something Will liked for dinner.  So sometimes Will stayed. 

 

Mike thought his Mom’s cooking was the best, so the rest of them simply avoided giving any contradictory opinion.  But Mrs. Wheeler had several dishes she did **_very_** well, and Mike knew Will was partial to her lasagna, so a few weeks ago he made sure to get Will invited to stay.  That night after supper, while they were helping clean up, Mrs. Wheeler told them the baby was kicking.  Will made what he hoped was a polite generic response, but she had mistaken it for actual interest.  Before Will could stop her, she’d taken his hand and pressed it against her belly, so he could feel the strong, jerky movements below the surface.

 

Will almost barfed up the lasagna.

 

It was too weird and too gross.  It was like those stories where the alien implants its young in the body of a human, and it bursts out later and kills the very person it was feeding off. 

 

When Will first learned where babies came from, and how they were born, he didn’t want to believe it.  The whole stork delivery system, or Mike’s joke about being bought at a Kmart blue light special both sounded more likely to Will. 

 

_And a lot less messy._

 

Will almost thought the other kids were joking.  Another tall tale you told kids until they were smart enough to figure out the lie. 

 

_Sex and Santa and the Tooth Fairy.  You’ll learn the truth when you get older._

 

But Will had confirmation from sources he trusted.  The stories about sex and childbirth were true.  Jonathan always told him the truth, and Dustin always had notes from books to back up his claims.

 

Will watched Mrs. Wheeler try to clumsily navigate the stairs to the second story without being able to see her feet.  He shuddered, thinking of the baby lurking inside her like a monster, ready to burst out.

 

The moment Mike’s Mom passed out of sight, Mike shoved Will’s backpack at him and said, “C’mon.  Let’s head downstairs.”

 

Will hefted his backpack and followed Mike into the basement.  Mike practically flew down the stairs and Will struggled to keep up.  When Will got to the bottom of the stairs, Mike had already run over to the little bathroom.  Will approached the card table where Mike’s DM screen was already set up.  There was a TV tray near Mike’s seat which had papers and a small bell on it.  Will set his pack down and was reaching out for the bell when Mike abruptly dropped a hand towel from the bathroom over it.

 

Mike gave him a wink and said, “Don’t spoil the surprise, okay?”

 

Will nodded. 

 

_Interesting_ , he thought.  And then quickly, “Sure.”

 

Mike inclined his head at Will’s backpack.  “You can put your stuff over there if you want.”  He pointed to the floor beside the couch.  “I already brought down your sleeping bag and my stuff.”

 

Will had the feeling that Mike was directing him away from the TV tray on purpose, but shrugged and headed that way.  Sure enough, the second Will’s back was turned, he heard Mike running around, shuffling papers, and generally acting like a spaz.  _He’s being sort of weird and jittery_ , Will thought to himself, _like when Dustin has too much candy or soda_.

 

Mike had also brought down his own things and a change of clothes, plus Will’s special Peanuts sleeping bag, blanket and pillow.  Will ran his hand along the well-worn bag and smiled to himself.  It seemed like Mike wanted some time alone to finish whatever he was working on, so Will busied himself by unrolling the Snoopy sleeping bag.  He laid it carefully over half the couch, effectively claiming one of the best spots for himself.  Next, he put his pillow down at the head of the sleeping bag and his blanket over it.  Lastly, he opened up his backpack and leaned it against the end of the couch for easy access.  _There_ , he thought, _just like home_.

 

Suddenly, Mike was by his side, all giddy and breathless.  “Sorry about that, I had a few more things to get ready, that’s all.”  Mike hip checked him lightly.  “You’re sworn to secrecy about the bell, okay?”

 

Will knew Mike meant this as a playful gesture and not an aggressive one, so he bumped Mike right back.  “Sure, weirdo.  I’ll try to keep Lucas and Dustin from even finding out about the **_existence_** of bells.”

 

For a second, Mike’s patented scowl appeared, but then he pointed to the TV tray, and said with mock gravity, “But especially that one right there, okay?”

 

Will held up his right hand as if taking an oath, and said solemnly, “Yes, Mike.  No one will ever get me to talk about **_that_** secret bell.  This I swear.”

 

Mike smiled down at Will, but then shook his head.  “No, I think you’ve already seen too much, you’re going to have to die!”

 

Then Mike was grabbing Will by the shoulders and pushing him onto the couch.  Will went willingly enough, but snatched Mike’s arm with his left hand and dragged him down too.  Mike landed half on Will and half on the couch with a loud “oof” and they occupied themselves for few minutes with roughhousing and play-fighting. 

 

“I give up,” Mike laughed, and pushed himself away from Will to the other end of the couch.  “You win.  I trust you’ll keep my secret.”  Mike laughed again and leaned against the arm of the couch, still half-heartedly kicking Will with his stocking feet.  “Fighting you is like fighting a rabid chipmunk.  You’re tiny but deadly.”

 

Will hated it when his friends called him tiny or short, even though he obviously was, so he kicked back at Mike.  Then he bared his teeth and raised his hands into claws and made little growling sounds, while kicking.

 

Mike raised his arms in surrender.  “No fair!  Your shoes hurt.”  Mike chuckled, and then mimicked his Mother’s voice, “And no shoes on the couch, young man!”

 

Will rolled his eyes, but relented.  “Yes, Mom.”  He kicked his shoes off one by one, and they landed haphazardly between the couch and coffee table.  Then he pressed his stocking feet up against Mike’s feet.  Mike ginned at him and they moved their feet against one another like they were pedaling a bike.  Mike wasn’t coordinated enough to keep it up for long, and with an embarrassed snort, his foot slipped off Will’s and slid off the couch.

 

Mike giggled some more and tried to match his foot to Will’s again.  Will remembered he’d thought Jonathan was the only person he could sit in comfortable silence with.  Maybe that wasn’t true. 

 

When they were all together, Mike and Dustin suffered from what Jonathan called “diarrhea of the mouth.”  They would talk all the time.  They both seemed embarrassed or threatened by silence and they each tried to fill it in their own way.  Dustin used moments of silence to share some factoid or trivia about the subject of discussion, or a random subject that interested him.  And Dustin always believed that **_anything_** that interested him would automatically interest **_everyone_** else. 

 

Mike also tried to fill any silences.  Usually with some sort of joke or story where someone did something embarrassing.  Sometimes, Mike was the butt of his own jokes.  But a lot of the time it was the people around them.  Mike’s stories and opinions about others could be pretty observant, but he could also be a little too mean for Will’s taste.

 

Mike was also the one who usually did what Lucas referred to as “group check-ins”.  When one member of the group hadn’t spoken up in a while or expressed their opinion, Mike used a lull in the conversation to check in with that friend and get them to join in.  Because of Will’s tendency to defer to the others and not to interrupt, he was the one Mike prompted to join the conversation the most.

 

Will wasn’t really annoyed when Dustin or Mike did this.  The silences didn’t bother Will, but neither did the lessons from Dustin or Mike’s lame jokes.

 

For some reason, though, when he and Mike were alone, Mike never suffered from his usual fear of silence.  Like right now - even though Mike was clearly excited or nervous about tonight, and even though they’d been half-heartedly pushing against each other’s feet long enough for Dustin to set up an overhead projector with a stack of transparencies about dwarf stars – Mike seemed happy to keep silent.  Mike just smiled at Will and checked his watch.  He didn’t rush to fill the silence or ask awkward questions. 

 

_This is nice_ , thought Will.  _Maybe Jonathan isn’t the only person I can feel safe with after all._

 

But Will could tell that Mike wanted to ask him why he was early.  Sometimes Will just knew what Mike was thinking.  And now was the time to give Mike a chance to ask something if he really wanted to, before the others got here.

 

Will pushed against Mike’s feet faster, until Mike looked up and caught his eye.  “Can I ask you something?”

 

Mike’s eyebrows shot up.  “Fair trade?”

 

Will knew it would work.  Mike was predictable sometimes.  Will nodded.

 

“Then shoot.”

 

“Why did you lie to your Mom before?”

 

Mike gave Will an incredulous look like this was the stupidest question in the world.  Then he shrugged and smiled.  “Why not?”

 

Will returned the smile, but it didn’t last long.  He kicked softly at Mike.  “That’s not an answer.  Not a real one.”

 

Mike frowned then and looked away.  “How do you even know it **_was_** a lie?  I mean . . . I call you on comms sometimes.  And my Mom knows that.”  He paused for a second.  “But you never really answer anymore.”  Mike smiled ruefully but didn’t look back at Will.  “Maybe she doesn’t know that.”  Longer pause.  “So, I think that . . .”  Mike met Will’s gaze then.  “If I **_swore_** to you that I called you this afternoon on the comms to come over early and help me . . . well, I think you’d have to believe me, wouldn’t you?  Just like she did.”

 

Guilt flickered across Will’s face.  The novelty of the comms had worn off for him pretty quickly.  It didn’t help that Will lived the furthest away.  It meant that the comms were spotty at best sometimes at his house.  So, a lot of the time, when Will wanted to reliably and quickly reach one of the guys, he just called them on the phone.  The activity on the comms had picked up once Dustin got one and then again later when Dustin got a pair of headphones so he could talk hands free.  But the truth was Will couldn’t even remember the last time he used the comms.  If he had to make a wild guess where his walkie-talkie (which was really Mike’s anyway) was at **_this exact moment_** he didn’t think he could.  Will knew sometimes it just ended up under his bed.  Switched off and gathering dust.

 

Will gave Mike his best apologetic look.  “You call me sometimes?”

 

Mike nodded.  “Sure.  Sometimes.  If I want to talk or check in or whatever . . .”

 

Mike trailed off and shrugged, and suddenly Will was the one who wanted to fill this new silence.  He said sincerely, “I’m sorry.”

 

Mike shrugged again.  “No big deal.  I just figure it’s out of range or you’re too busy or you have it turned off or something.”

 

This made Will feel even worse.  All he could do was picture Mike calling out to no one on the comms.

 

“I’m really sorry.  I’m going to do better.  I’ll try to always remember to turn it on.  And I can make sure to call you to check in each night before I go to sleep.  Like we did when we first got them.”

 

Mike nodded, clearly pleased, “Thanks Will.”

 

As Will thought about it, he decided he wanted to make more of a point, to really get what he meant across.  So he continued, “But if you need me for **_any_** reason and you can’t raise me on comms, just call me.”

 

Mike opened his mouth to interrupt, and Will knew he would blab about getting phone time or the privacy and secrecy of the comms versus the phone.  So Will barreled on.  “I know, I get it, but just ask if you can call me for even, like, a minute, and you can tell me you need to talk.  And I can go get on the comms with you or if the comms aren’t working great, we can meet somewhere.”

 

Mike looked like he wanted to argue at first, but by the end of Will’s speech, Mike seemed intrigued.  So instead of the protests Will expected, all Mike asked was, “Where would we meet?”

 

Will hadn’t really thought that through.  The whole point he was trying to make was that if Mike **_really_** needed something, he should try harder to connect and Will would make time for him.  So Will thought quickly about someplace to meet. 

 

Will had no trouble getting out of his house, either with permission or without.  And despite the fact Mike’s bedroom was on the second floor, he didn’t really have problems getting out of the house either. 

 

_But where?  Meeting halfway between our houses is along an unlit road.  And **that** doesn’t feel like the safest or most inviting plan.  Where to meet?  Where to meet?  _

Then Will had an idea.

 

“We can meet where we first met.”

 

Mike beamed at him.  “The swings?”

 

Will nodded triumphantly.  “Exactly.” 

 

Will knew the next thing out of Mike’s mouth would be a demand for a code word for said meeting.  The group had already established codes, such as Code Red, for emergency situations.  There were other codes too, including one Dustin and Lucas had come up with for when Erica or Mrs. Henderson tried to eavesdrop on their private comms conversations. 

 

“All you need to say on the comms or on the phone is ‘Code K,’”  Will said quickly,  “and I’ll meet you at the swings.”

 

Mike nodded appreciatively.  “Hell, we can use that at lunch too.”

 

“Well after this week, we should really stick together I think.  All four of us.”

 

Mike nodded solemnly at that.  “Agreed.”

 

“But yeah.  If there’s ever a time we need to talk, just the two of us, we can use ‘Code K’ and meet there.”

 

Mike’s eyes twinkled and Will thought he seemed glad to have a shared secret.

 

Will pushed at Mike’s feet again.  “Your turn.  Fair trade.”

 

“Why didn’t you just call me on comms?”  Mike asked, brow furrowed.  “Or the phone?  Before coming early?”

 

Will figured Mike would be more direct, but maybe he was trying not to be rude.  Whatever the reason, Will was glad he didn’t have to address questions about his home life head on.  It was easier not to talk about how things were at home at all, not even with Mike.  Will tried to think of what he could say that was both true and didn’t invite more questions. 

 

He settled on: “I guess I left in sort of a hurry.”

 

“Oh?” Now Mike’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair.  He stared at their moving feet and not at Will, when he asked softly, “Everything okay?” 

 

Will was sure in that moment Mike knew something.  Or guessed something. 

 

_But he can’t know, not for sure_.  _And everything **was** okay, Jonathan saw to that.  So I don’t even have to lie._

 

Will only said, “Sure.”

 

Mike looked up at Will again and started in on his quick-speak.  “Okay, well, you should still remember to call me on comms, or the phone.  Or if you left really fast, if you just remembered to **_bring_** the comms with you, which you should really do when packing up your backpack anyway, you could call me on the way.  That’s the beauty of the walkies.  You can call from the road.  And then if you had called me one way or the other, I could have come out to wait for you or let you in down here, so you wouldn’t have to deal with **_my mother_**. “   

 

Mike rolled his eyes skyward on the word “mother” and made a face like she was the troll under the bridge that the billy goats had to trick to get past.

 

“Your Mom is fine, Mike.  Besides, I thought she liked me?” 

 

Mike rolled his eyes even harder.  “Of course she does, **_everyone_** likes you.” 

 

Mike paused then.  When Mike was speaking in fast mode, Will knew he wasn’t editing himself, but Will could tell his friend was really thinking about what he wanted to say next. 

 

“Sometimes,” Mike continued slowly, “I just get in this mood when I can’t deal with any more parents.  And even seeing one that isn’t mine, or having to deal with them at all just seems like it’s too much to take.” 

 

_How does he know how I’m feeling_?  Will wondered. 

 

Now Will knew why Mike lied to his Mom.  Mike somehow knew Will didn’t want to lie to Mrs. Wheeler, but he also didn’t want to tell her the truth.  So instead of making Will answer, Mike had interrupted and lied to her himself instead.

 

Will understood this instinct.  Sometimes you had to protect your friends from your family.  Will had done it himself, protecting his friends from his Dad’s yelling or his Mom’s questions.  This was just Mike doing his version of the same thing.

 

While Will thought this through, Mike was looking at him expectantly. 

 

Will settled on, “I know what you mean.  I feel like that too.  Sometimes.”

 

Mike managed a small smile. “Good.  I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

 

They both stayed silent for a while until Mike said, “It works both ways you know.”

 

“What does?”

 

“Code K.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean if you ever need to talk.  Or you just need to, I don’t know, stretch your legs or just get out of the house or something . . . “

 

_Or flee my own home?_ Will thought.

 

“Just call Code K and I can meet you and we can decide what to do next.”

 

Will’s gaze crept down.  He had a sudden need to watch his feet push against Mike’s.  He had a sudden need to not look Mike in the eye.  Will knew he was coming too close to admitting something, so he tried to stay vague.  “We can’t just stay on the swings forever, Mike.”

 

“No.  But, if we need to, we can always come back here.”  Mike stopped abruptly then, his feet settling on the edge of the couch.  Mike smiled at him and continued as soon as Will looked at him.  “You’re always welcome here, Will.  **_Always_**.”

 

Will chuckled.  “Thanks.  But I’m not sure your parents would go for that.”

 

Mike looked offended.  “Who cares what **_they_** think?  We’ll sneak you in here if we have to.”  Mike pointed over to Will’s backpack.  “Just bring that thing with you to the Code K.”  Mike tried out a horrible Scottish accent.  “You’re a wee lad.”  He abandoned it just as quickly.  “I’ll just stuff you in there and hide you in my room.”

 

Will rolled his eyes at Mike’s nonsense.  “I’m not sure that would work.”

 

Mike waved a hand, “Why not?  You’re good at hiding.  I bet I could hide someone in this house without my parents noticing for a long time.”

 

“Oh really?”

 

“Sure.  I was thinking of renting out the baby’s room to like drifters and hobos.  It’s not like she’ll be able to tattle on me.   And I need the cash.”

 

Will laughed hard enough to snort, which made him laugh even harder.  It felt good.  He swiveled away from Mike, sitting upright.  He busied himself by pushing his shoes over by his backpack and out of the way. 

 

Mike followed suit and planted his feet on the floor.  Then he smirked at Will.  “Besides, I know the **_real_** reason you came here early.”

 

Will could tell instantly from Mike’s tone and facial expression that a serious comment about Will’s home life was **_not_** forthcoming.  So, instead of being alarmed, Will took the bait and asked, “You do, huh?”

 

“Sure, you came early to call dibs on some prime couch real estate.”  Mike reached across the couch to the Peanuts sleeping bag and patted the cushion next to Will.  “This is the side closest to the heat, **_and_** that’s the cushion without the soda stain.  It’s brilliant.  I should have thought of it.  It’s my own house, I should get dibs on the couch.”

 

Will gave a one-shoulder shrug.  “You still can.”  He reached down and grabbed Mike’s rolled-up sleeping bag and threw it to him. 

 

Mike failed to react to this in any way, and the sleeping bag bounced comically off his chest.

 

Will suppressed a laugh and continued, “Just lay out your stuff on **_that_** side and we can share the couch.”

 

“But what if I wanted to double up with one of the other guys?”

 

Will snickered.  “Go ahead and ask them, I’ll give away my ‘prime’ spot if you wanna share with someone else.”

 

Mike raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

 

Will shook his head sadly.  “But I bet you won’t get any takers.”

 

“I don’t like the sound of that.  And I don’t like making bets with you any more – what do you know, Byers?” 

 

“Well why do you think it’s always me with you in your bedroom and the other two down the hall in the guest room?” 

 

Mike tilted his head to one side, thinking.  “I always just figured as my first friend you had some sort of veto power and insisted on sharing with me.”  Mike’s eyes brightened and he went on quickly.  “Or that you won the hotly contested rock-paper-scissors game to see who got to share with the host of all the **_best_** sleepovers.”

 

“Okay,” Will nodded slowly.  “Let’s go with that first one.  My veto power has really gone to my head and I definitely insist on bunking with you.  I had a stamp made and everything.”

 

Will mimed stamping a document with ridiculous force and proclaimed loudly, “Vetoed!” 

 

Mike wiggled his eyebrows and said, “I sense there is more to this story.  Spill.”

 

Will put up his hands.  “Okay, okay.  The harsh truth it is.  You snore, Mike.” 

 

Mike looked sheepish then, and nodded.  “Yeah.  It’s not **_that_** bad is it?” 

 

Will considered simply reassuring Mike, but even Will was not immune to the temptation of telling an embarrassing story at Mike’s expense. 

 

“On my very first sleepover, we were in bed and I got woke up by this sound and I thought you were **_dying_**.  But I was too scared to go find your parents or Nancy, so I just lay there and listened to your death rattle.”

 

“My **_death rattle_**?”

 

“Yeah.  I never even thought until that night that someone could choke to death on life itself, but that is for sure what it sounded like.  I was sort of worried, until I realized that if you **_were_** actually dying you were doing it really slowly, and over and over again.  So eventually I just drifted back to sleep. “

 

Mike grimaced.  “My Mom says I didn’t snore when I was little at all, but ever since I broke my nose . . . .”  Mike shrugged and trailed off. 

 

Will remembered the story, Nancy told it often enough to embarrass Mike, and even Mike’s Mom had trotted it out now and then.  “Ah, ‘The Day They Had to Drain the Pool,’ huh?” 

 

Mike nodded and touched his nose.  “Yup.”  Then Mike gripped his nose and took deep breaths in and out through it, while squeezing and moving it about as much as he could.  In the end, the best he could produce was a little whistle.  “That didn’t sound much like a death rattle”, Mike shrugged.  “But I’m sorry if I scare you or keep you up.  That sucks.”  

 

“You don’t **_scare_** me, Mike, I was five!  I just didn’t know what was happening.  But I guess ever since I’m just used to it.  It doesn’t bother me at all now, so just set your stuff up and let’s just claim the couch for ourselves.” 

 

“And what if Dustin and Lucas object?” 

 

“They won’t.  But **_if_** they do, I’ll dig my veto stamp out of that humongous backpack or I’ll go full rabid chipmunk on them.”   Will bared his teeth again and put up one hand in a claw.

 

“Damn,” said Mike slowly as he unrolled his own sleeping bag along the other half of the couch.  “Remind me not to mess with you, Will.”

 

            ---

 

Lucas watched Dustin struggle with his bike and all his stuff and resisted the urge to make fun of him.  Lucas also resisted the urge to cave in and help him.

 

_So overall, it’s a wash_ , thought Lucas.

 

Lucas had run in and grabbed the camo duffel his father handed down to him, which was packed with his D&D stuff, the wrist rocket, the Supercom, and a few clothes.   Then he and Dustin grabbed their bikes and started to walk them to Mike’s house.  Lucas could have easily slung the duffel over his shoulder and jumped on his bike.  But as usual, Dustin over-packed. 

 

Dustin had his backpack filled with school and D&D stuff slung over his shoulder.  He also had a bag hanging over each side of his bike’s handlebars.  According to Dustin, one was full of “sustenance,” and the other was filled with “clothes and other essentials”.  Lucas was sure that “essentials” meant books, comics, and the comms, and did not mean any personal grooming items.  Brushes, for teeth or hair had never been “essential” for their sleepovers. 

 

Finally, Dustin’s preferred sleeping bag and favorite pillow were balanced on the seat of his bike.  Dustin struggled to manage it all without anything falling, while they slowly walked their bikes to the Wheeler’s.

 

Lucas was used to this.  Dustin always over-packed and over-planned.  Dustin had come to his first sleepover at Mike’s armed with eighty things to do or read or listen to, and the grand plan to stay up all night.  He had excitedly explained all the things they could and would have time to do if they just skipped sleeping.  Mike had been dubious, but Dustin had an answer in the form of enough sweets and soda to help them all stay awake all night.  It sounded great to Lucas, while they were scarfing sweets and chugging soda, but Dustin’s big plan ran into the wall of reality around ten that night.  Dustin crashed from his sugar high and was the first of them to fall asleep.

 

Mike cackled in his own overly caffeinated state; he considered it a game of who would be the last to succumb to sleep.  Mike also seemed perfectly content to leave his brand new friend sleeping face down on the cold, hard basement floor.  Will and Lucas removed Dustin’s cap, slipped a pillow under his head, and covered him with a sleeping bag.

 

Lucas didn’t care about planning a bunch of activities, and he didn’t care about packing methodically, especially when they were staying at Mike’s.  Lucas knew he was spoiled from living so close and from having his own house key.  If there was ever anything he forgot or wanted, he just ran back home to get it.

 

Even if Dustin’s grand ideas never got beyond the planning stage, Lucas still loved Dustin’s enthusiasm.  In school and out, that enthusiasm could be contagious.  Sometimes it would run through the group like wildfire, igniting excitement for chemistry or cartography.  Or the fact The Legion of Super Heroes dropped “Superboy” from the title and now had their own comic.  With Dustin around, every day held something new to get excited about.

 

“Shit!” Dustin muttered under his breath.  “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

 

Lucas turned his attention back to his friend.  Dustin’s unruly tangled curls were smashed beneath his baseball cap and he was struggling to keep his bike upright. It was listing to one side, threatening to tip over completely and throw the sleeping bag, pillow, and various other bags into the street.

 

Lucas caved then.  He let his bike crash to the pavement as he hitched his duffel higher on his shoulder, and reached over to grab the seat of Dustin’s bike to steady it.  Once he was sure it wouldn’t fall, he grabbed for Dustin’s sleeping bag and pillow, tucked them under his arm, and said, “Why don’t you let me take that?”

 

Dustin shot him a wide toothless smile and said, “Thanks, man.”

 

Lucas picked up his bike and started to push it along again.  “No problem.  You bring any good snacks to share?”

 

“When do I not?”  Dustin laughed.  “I just raid the pantry on my way out.”  Dustin cleared his throat and shot Lucas a more serious look then, but quickly glanced away.  “But, I mean, I told my Mom about what Troy said.  And what you did.   And what happened.  So she made you Snickerdoodles.”  Dustin pointed to the bag hanging from the left handlebar.  “Remind me to give them to you.”  Dustin smirked at Lucas.  “Hopefully you’ll share.”

 

“With Orsik and Will the Wise, for sure.“  Lucas smiled.  “It’ll be our lembas bread, but with cinnamon.”

 

“None for Mike though?”

 

“Share with Wheeler?” Lucas considered, raising his eyebrows.  “We’ll see how the night goes.”

 

They both laughed, but Lucas noticed Dustin’s smile faded quickly and he stared at the ground as he continued pushing his bike.

 

“I was really looking forward to tonight.  Y’know, **_before_**.”

 

Lucas knew what Dustin meant, but it was unsettling to see him act so down.  Dustin normally didn’t let things get to him.  Usually Dustin was the one who tried to joke or tease the others out of a bad mood.  So it was weird to think he might need the same kind of treatment.

 

“Me too.  Tonight we’ll still get to kill Troyen James, though, right?”

 

Dustin nodded.  He murmured softly, almost too low for Lucas to hear, “I hate him.”

 

Lucas had never heard Dustin say anything like that before.  And Dustin had seemed scared to even say it, so Lucas wondered if he’d even heard his friend correctly.  Lucas leaned closer, “What?”

 

Dustin repeated dully, “I **_hate_** him.  Troy, I mean.  Not the lich.”

 

Lucas wanted to admit he hated Troy too.  It would be an easy way to connect with Dustin, to stand with him.  But deep down, Lucas heard his parents in his head, telling him it was wrong to hate someone.  That maybe hating someone was dangerous.  And not the Christian thing to do.  So he tried something else instead. 

“You shouldn’t listen to Troy,” he said.  “He’s an idiot.”

 

Dustin nodded.  “Maybe.  Maybe he is an idiot.  But maybe he’s right too.  Even idiots can be right sometimes.  Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.”

 

“What could Troy possibly be right about?”

 

Dustin shrugged and half-heartedly pushed his bike forward.  “Maybe he’s right about me.  Maybe I’ll never be anything more than a fat toothless midget.”

 

Lucas tried outright denial first.  “You’re not any of those things.”

 

Dustin scoffed.  He put on the expression he saved for pointing out when the teacher was wrong. 

 

Lucas knew immediately his denial attempt wasn’t the way to go.  Instead, he took a page out of Dustin’s own book.  He’d watched Dustin do it enough to know it worked.  Hell, Lucas had been the target of some of these attempts himself.  Make a joke to cajole someone out of a bad mood or flatter them to cheer them up that way.

 

_Two can play at that_ game, Lucas thought.  _Keep him smiling, keep him laughing._   _Start down the list Dustin mentioned.  Fat was first._

Lucas searched his mind for a relevant memory.  Lucas had been with Dustin and Mrs. Henderson in Sears one weekend.  She was looking at clothes and they were looking at electronics, and Mrs. Henderson had screamed across the entire store: “Dusty!  Get over here!  Huskys are on sale!” 

 

So Lucas pulled a reference from that day out.  “Besides man, you’re not fat.  You’re husky!  Your pants told me.”

 

Dustin didn’t fully smile, but the corners of his mouth lifted a little.

 

Lucas continued, “Dude, that one day I literally thought your Mom was saying that some sled dogs were on sale.”

 

Dustin rolled his eyes then.  “Yeah, I guess Mr. Slim Jeans over here never heard of Husky size pants before.”

 

Lucas laughed.  “I didn’t know.  I thought you were getting another pet or something.”

 

Dustin shook his head.  “Yeah, yeah.”

 

Lucas knew it hadn’t fully worked, but it was a good start.  He went down Dustin’s checklist to tackle Troy’s next insult.

 

_Toothless was second_.

 

“And you’re not toothless either.  We all know that your teeth are still coming in.  Hell, even Troy knows that.  You tell him every time.”

 

“But what if they never do?” 

 

“You can just get some false teeth.”

 

Dustin grimaced but didn’t reply, so Lucas continued.  “My Grandma has some. She takes them out at night and puts them in a glass beside her bed.”

 

Dustin didn’t react, so Lucas had to step up his game.  “Don’t ever tell anyone this, okay?”

 

Dustin perked up a bit then, interested.  “Okay.”

 

“So once when Erica and I were napping on Grandma’s bed, Erica woke up and bugged me to get her a drink of water.  I kinda just gave her Grandma’s teeth glass and let her drink out of it.”

 

Dustin did laugh then, and made a disgusted face.  “Why?”

 

Lucas shrugged.  “Just too lazy to get up.”

 

“You’re the worst brother ever!  Giving your baby sister old lady teeth water.”  Dustin shuddered.

 

They pushed their bikes on in silence for a while before Dustin volunteered, “He is right about the midget thing, though.”

 

“You aren’t a midget.  I mean, I’m older than you and you’re **_my_** size.”

 

Dustin sighed.  “For now.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘for now’?”

 

“The doctors say I’ll be shorter than average once I’m fully grown.  So you may not notice now, but it’ll be noticeable.  Someday.”

 

Lucas tried one more time, hopeful a combination of sincerity and flattery could seal the deal.  He shot Dustin what he hoped was an encouraging smile and said, “Dude, your personality is so oversized I think you’ll always be the most noticeable one in any room.”

 

Dustin smiled and looked away, as if he were embarrassed.  “Thanks.”

 

“I mean it.”

 

“No, I mean, yes  -- thanks for what you said.  But I was just trying to, y’know, thank you for what you did.  Like, **_properly_** thank you.  I know it’s no Snickerdoodles, but thanks for coming to the rescue.  My rescue.”

 

Lucas tilted his head.  “Trying to you mean.”

 

“No, **_I_** was definitely rescued, and **_I_** didn’t get punched, so . . . “ Dustin shrugged and trailed off.

 

Lucas nodded.  “I guess I shouldn’t have said anything to Troy.”

 

“Well,” Dustin said philosophically, “if Troy was right in what he said, you were right too.  He **_is_** retarded.  Like clinically.  I keep worrying that he’ll get held back and be in our grade.”

 

“Don’t even think that,” Lucas said sharply.  He waived the terrible thought away.  “Next year we’ll rule the school and he’ll be suffering through Junior High.” 

 

“I hope you’re right.”

 

“I am.  The teachers will never outright flunk him, because they don’t want to see him anymore either.”

 

Dustin laughed again.  “That has the ring of truth.”

 

“Besides you have no reason to thank me.  You jumped in to stop him when he was coming after me again, so I guess we’re even.”

 

Lucas gave Dustin a big smile and a nod.

 

Dustin smiled back.  “Us against the world, right?”

 

Lucas shot Dustin a put upon look.  “I set that up so beautifully last week and bam, Will the Wise is right there for it.  Hand on mine without thinking.  But then Orsik has this internal debate for twenty minutes or something?”  Lucas shook his head in disgust.  “I feel like it was like pulling teeth to get you to put your hand in for that.”

 

“Naw,” smiled Dustin.  “I **_know_** from pulling teeth.”  Dustin wagged his eyebrows at Lucas.  “And it wasn’t nearly **_that_** bad.”  Dustin grew thoughtful once more, “When you said that and Will and I put our hands in, I just never imagined that the world would be so against us sometimes.  I mean, I really feel like kids – in the real world  -- should like us a lot more.” 

 

Dustin fell silent for a moment but then looked over at Lucas earnestly.  Lucas was relieved to see Dustin’s expression was still one of hope.  “I mean, we **_are_** pretty amazing, right?” 

 

Lucas’s head bobbed.  “For sure.”  Then Lucas remembered some of what he had talked about with his Dad.  “Sometimes it just takes the world a little bit to catch up.”

 

Dustin shook his head in disappointment.  “Stupid world.”

 

Lucas agreed with Dustin wholeheartedly on that sentiment, as they turned their bikes into the Wheeler’s driveway.

 

            ---

 

Mike Wheeler was terrified by his friends’ reckless blood-lust. 

 

Terrified, but not surprised.

 

Terrified, because the big “final battle” was going way too quickly.  The party was burning through Troyen’s hit points like they were nothing.  This was supposed to be the big “epic confrontation” that would last half the evening, until they got to Nancy’s part. 

 

_But it looks like this is going to be over any minute.  They are pasting the shit out of Troyen James._

 

Will the Wise was using area effect spells with little thought about the dangers of accidentally hurting Orsik and Ehren. 

 

Ehren was in his normal all-out-attack mode.  Lucas’s favorite saying about battles was one he picked up from his continued attempts to master chess – “the best defense is a good offense.” 

 

Even Dustin, who normally would have Orsik approach a battle in a more calculated way, left himself open to counter-attack in order to maximize damage and surround Troyen.

 

Mike wasn’t surprised, because this was a long time coming in game.  They had defeated Troyen a bunch of times before, but they finally knew how to defeat him once and for all.  They all wanted to stop his plan to curse the Elder Tree with Soul Rot.  Mike knew Will also wanted Troyen gone for good, in the hopes the Soul Rot curse would be lifted from his character.  And those were just the in-game reasons.

 

In real life, Mike knew each of his friends had reasons to be angry and vengeful too.  Maybe they were taking some real life frustration out on the villain in their D&D world.  Mike couldn’t really blame them for that. 

 

_It’s just that they’re also destroying their DM’s carefully laid plans in the process._

 

Even though Mike hadn’t witnessed the incident with the real Troy and James last week, he had seen the aftermath.  So it wasn’t surprising after what Dustin and Lucas suffered that they were out for blood. 

 

Not only had Lucas been physically hurt, he was also really upset.  When Mike tried to talk to him privately, Lucas blew him off.  Lucas didn’t want to hear anything from Mike.  Not sympathy.  Not praise.  Not encouragement.  Nothing.  Lucas had been more withdrawn than Mike had seen in a long time.

 

Dustin hadn’t been injured, just some scrapes on his back, but he had been hurt in some other way.  The things Troy had said to Dustin really made him doubt himself.  Dustin hadn’t raised his hand in class to answer a question the whole rest of the week.

 

_And Dustin lives for that shit_.

 

Mike didn’t know how to fix it, or to help them, or even to talk to them in the way they wanted.   So instead, he talked to Nancy about it and they changed some of Enelya’s lines.  Mike had tacked on one more rip-off of Galadriel by adding a scrying pool that let Enelya see the past, present, and possible future.  Even if Mike Wheeler was too lame to actually talk to his friends, Mike the Dungeon Master could craft a story where **_someone_** could make them feel better. 

 

_At least I hope so_.

 

Mike also thought that something was going on with Will’s family.  He didn’t know what exactly, but he heard his Mom talking to Mrs. Sinclair.  And his Mom said she was worried for “Joyce and the boys”.  And Mike knew it probably had something to do with Will’s Dad.  That was pretty obvious.  Mom wouldn’t be afraid of what Chester could do to “Joyce and the boys”.  Besides, Mike had seen and heard some scary things when he’d been around Will’s Dad in the past.  Plus, Will had shown up early today.

 

Mike almost tried to force Will to tell him what was going on, but he chickened out at the last minute. 

 

It was partly that he didn’t want to ruin the sleepover.   He had worked hard on this adventure and tonight’s big battle, and he wanted it to be fun. 

 

But Mike also felt Will always tried to tell the truth, even about stuff he didn’t really want to talk about.  Mike learned over the years not to ask direct questions.  That way Will had some wiggle room to avoid things he’d rather keep to himself.  So Mike gave Will an opening to discuss “home life” if he wanted to, and Will had dodged the topic entirely.

 

Maybe someday Mike would muster the courage to ask Will about it directly.  Maybe he could use a Code K to bring it up. 

 

_On the swings we can talk.  And we won’t have to look at each other.  Maybe that’ll help.  Maybe someday_.

 

Mike tried to force his mind back to the battle and wracked his brain to come up with a cool way to extend it.  To make it as “epic” as he’d hoped.  But his mind kept wandering back to his friends, and turn after turn he was just going through the motions with Troyen.  Mike hadn’t had Troyen engage in much banter.

 

_Which is understandable since he’s getting his ass handed to him_.

 

But Mike recognized that even his attacks were by the book.  Mike just couldn’t concentrate on beating up on Ehren and Orsik and Will the Wise.

 

_Or maybe I just don’t **want** to_. 

 

Normally Mike didn’t think about how hard his friends had it.  If he was being honest with himself, he thought more often about himself than his friends.  But even when he **_was_** thinking about them, sometimes Mike was too busy being jealous of them to really recognize everything they were going through. 

 

Wishing he was stronger and more athletic like Lucas. 

 

_High Dexterity score_.  _Mine is, like, a two._

 

Wishing he was as smart as Dustin.

 

_High Intelligence **and** Wisdom.  A rare combination._

           

Wishing he was as kind and well liked as Will.

 

_Charisma off the charts.  Undervalued stat.  A **charming** deadly chipmunk._

 

And whenever Mike felt envious of his friends, he also felt guilty.  But after a week like this one, when life chose to remind Mike exactly how tough things were for his friends, it wasn’t hard for Mike to understand why they sometimes call him “spoiled.”

 

So Mike understood why they avoided talking to the “spoiled brat” about their **_real_** problems. 

 

_My sympathy feels too much like pity._

 

Letting them win this battle against Troyen James would also seem like pity.  Even though Mike wasn’t actually doing that, he was afraid it looked like he was.  So Mike decided to give them a run for their money and make the rest of this battle not seem so one-sided.

 

The easiest way to do that was to get into the character of Troyen James and start acting things out again.  The guys always got most into the game when they were interacting directly with one of Mike’s characters.  As much as Mike couldn’t wait for Troyen James to die, the character deserved a proper send-off.

 

It sucked that Mike was no longer part of the team.  Mike had wanted to be the DM, and he mostly enjoyed it.  But tonight was going to be pretty special for the party and they wouldn’t associate Mike with any of the good feelings or their sense of triumph.  They were going to associate Mike with the horrible villain or the petty elf functionary who gets what’s coming to him.  But Mike wrote this story, so he had to embrace his part in it.  If he was going to be the villain, he would have to be one of the worst villains ever, so that beating him would feel like a relief.

 

Mike would never understand the motivations of the actual Troy in their lives.  His cruelty seemed random and pointless.  But getting into the head of Troyen James was a lot easier for Mike. 

 

_What would Troyen do once he realizes he’s losing_?  _Primary goal – get out of this inescapable tomb.  That means restarting the portal.  Secondary goal – get the phylactery back from the dwarf_.

 

So Mike knew what he had to do to jumpstart the drama.  On Troyen’s next turn, he said in his neutral DM voice, “You have Troyen surrounded.  His head turns taking in all three of you, but he focuses his glare on Orsik.  Then . . .” Mike mimed this next part as he described it.  “He brings his hands together and fiddles with something on his finger.  In the next moment he disappears from in between all of you and appears behind the zombies and skeletons on the other side of the room.”

 

“A blink ring!” guessed Dustin.

 

“What does it do?” asked Will.

 

“Limited teleportation,” explained Dustin.  “He can teleport as his move action.”

 

“Like, **_all_** the time?” asked Lucas.

 

“No.  Normally it only has a certain amount of charges per day or something.”

 

“So we have no idea how many more times he can do this?” asked Lucas.

 

“Not really,” shrugged Dustin.

 

“Well, he’s hiding behind his minions now,” observed Will.  “And I’ve already used most of my big area spells.”

 

“Ignore the others,” Lucas said forcefully.  “He’s just trying to make us waste our time and energy on them.  He made them.  If **_he_** falls, **_they_** fall.”

 

_That’s true_ , thought Mike, _they’ll all go down if you kill Troyen.  But Troyen is also the only one that can reopen the portal, so hopefully one of them remembers that, and gives me a second to have him do that before they kill him_.

 

“Like I said,” continued Lucas, “focus fire on him.  Only him.”

 

_Or not_ , thought Mike.

 

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” observed Dustin.  “That was just his movement, he could do another action.”

 

They all looked over at Mike.

 

“Troyen directs the undead to stop what they are doing and attack you,” Mike said.  “Then he lowers his head and starts to do some sort of complex spell or ritual.”

 

The next few turns went by slowly, with lots of combat rolls.  The two zombies attacked Orsik.  Will the Wise and Ehren each had one skeleton attacking them.  Ehren and Will the Wise ignored the skeletons and just took the hits.  Ehren continued to fire arrows at Troyen and Will the Wise followed suit by using Magic Missile, targeting Troyen.  Orsik, flanked by zombies, had his hands full.  All of Orsik’s best attacks were melee attacks anyway, so he hacked away at the zombies all while trying to move past them and get closer to Troyen.

 

Each turn, Mike had Troyen continue the ritual, while taking damage from Ehren and Will the Wise, and having the minions do what they could against the heroes.  Then, on the turn where Orsik finally got away from the zombies and charged up to Troyen, Mike sprung his trap.  Mike knew, even as he did it, that it was uncomfortably close to what the real Troy and James had done in isolating Dustin, but it couldn’t be helped.  Orsik was the one who had the Bag of Holding which contained Troyen’s phylactery.

 

Mike said, “When Orsik gets close enough he strikes Troyen with his dagger. Troyen finally looks up from what he was doing.  The sockets where his eyes once were light up with dark energy.  Will the Wise and Ehren both hear the telltale hum of the portal behind them being opened once again.  They both immediately feel the breeze from the ruins in the Barrens and the sweet smell of air much fresher than the stale air you’ve been breathing since the portal was shut.  You both realize as you take a deep breath of the fresh air, how close you may have been to running out.”

 

Mike was pleased to see that both Lucas and Will took in a deep breath of the dusty basement air, as if they were their characters in the story.

 

“Troyen steps slightly past Orsik.  Troyen shouts, ‘You arrogant worms!’ and then he brings his hands together like this.”  Mike demonstrated this, bringing his arms across his chest and closing his fists.  Mike would never admit it to them, but he practiced this move in the mirror several times to make sure it achieved maximum bad-assery.

 

Then Mike said in his Troyen snarl, “You can never defeat me!”

 

Mike lifted his crossed arms slightly towards his face and then uncrossed them and swiftly held his hands up, palms out.  This maneuver made noise on its own, but Mike accompanied it with a little sound effect of “whoomp”.  The movement accidentally knocked over the binder he was using as his DM screen, but rather than seeming comical, it had the desired effect.  All three of the boys stopped moving and stared at Mike, open-mouthed.

 

Mike said in his normal DM voice, “Troyen unleashes a wave of force unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.  It fills the small room from Troyen all the way to the portal, pushing and crushing everything in its way.  The throne of Giant bones Troyen had been sitting on is turned to dust.  All the Skeletons and Zombies are instantly destroyed.”

 

“Damn,” muttered Lucas, his eyes going wide.

 

“The random broken bones of the skeletons and dislodged body parts of the zombies all fly through the portal and scatter into the portal room in the ruins.  Orsik watches as they scatter along the floor and into the pools . . . “

 

“Hot tubs,” interrupted Lucas half-heartedly.

 

“Pools,” Mike repeated.  “Ehren and Will the Wise are also blown back through the portal and each take 2d10 damage.”

 

“What?”

 

“No way!”

 

“That . . . that might kill them,” Dustin said hesitantly.

 

“Roll it out,” said Mike evenly.  “If you’re still conscious, you can then make a saving throw to see if you can land on your feet.  If you fail that, you fall to the ground or land in one of the **_hot tubs_** which are now filled with jagged skeleton bones and rancid zombie meat.”

 

Lucas was scowling at Mike, but Will looked more sad than mad as they rolled out the damage.  Neither of them were reduced to zero or below.  Mike had kept careful track of where they were health-wise and knew when setting the damage that it was unlikely they would go down.  Then they both rolled to save.  Will saved, so Will the Wise landed on his feet.  Lucas failed the saving throw, so Mike said, “Ehren goes splash into the zombie meat stew of the yellow pool.”

 

“And what happens to Orsik?” Dustin asked quietly.

 

“Nothing,” Mike said, “Troyen walked past you and the blast of force was directed outward.  Troyen is out of actions for the turn, but he turns his head to look at you.”

 

Mike slowly sat the DM screen upright again and then leaned to his right to get into Dustin’s space a little and said, using his most guttural voice, “Give me my phylactery and I will let you all live.  Cross me further and I will kill you and use you as my undead servants until the end of time.”

 

Will gasped and Mike could feel Lucas‘s laser eyed glare lighting up the back of his head.  But Mike kept his gaze on Dustin, trying to gauge Dustin’s reaction and see if he had gone too far.  Dustin was definitely not smiling, but he didn’t look scared either, which was good.  Then Dustin’s lip began what Mike thought was a tremble, but turned quickly into a snarl.

 

Dustin stroked his non-existent whiskers and shouted, a little too loudly, “Fuck you, you undead piece of shit!”

 

            ---

 

Dustin Henderson instantly regretted swearing so loud. 

 

His line was awesome, clearly, and got the desired reaction from Lucas, which was a nod of his head and a satisfied smile. 

 

However, when Will went a little pale and Mike broke character to look fearfully up the stairs, Dustin realized that maybe he’d said his movie-caliber line a little too loud.

 

Sometimes Dustin forgot they were still in the presence of Mike’s family.  The Wheeler basement was like their secret clubhouse and a lot of the time he felt removed and protected from the world when they were down there.

 

The bigger problem was Dustin didn’t think swearing was a big deal.  And he could swear in front of his Mom no problem, she didn’t care.  So he had gotten into the habit of saying whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.  And even though Dustin was really good at talking his way out of trouble with most adults, his so-called “potty mouth” still got him in trouble sometimes.  Which Dustin didn’t really understand at all.

 

Dustin waited and watched the stairs to see if one of Mike’s parents would open the door and yell down at them. 

 

He thought, _It all seems pretty random_ , w _hich words are forbidden and which aren’t._   _Luck and booties are fine to say. (In fact, now that I think of it, Luck Booties would be an awesome Wondrous Item for D &D, I should suggest that to Mike.)  But one letter different, an “F” instead of an “L” or a “B” instead of a “T” and there I am staying after school._ 

 

_And now I might have gotten us in trouble_.  _Again_.

 

Even though Dustin understood intellectually the idea of conventions and norms that could explain “forbidden” words, he still didn’t really **_get_** what all the fuss was about.  They were just words after all.  Dustin always thought that words couldn’t hurt you.  He was convinced words only had power over you if **_you_** gave them that power.

 

Which is why what happened this week was really doing a number on Dustin.  Everyone was overreacting to words this week, himself included.  Dustin’s idea that words couldn’t hurt you couldn’t explain how Lucas reacted to being called “coon”.  Or how Troy reacted to being called a “fucking retard”.  Or how Dustin had spiraled since Troy called him a “fat midget freak”.

 

The sideshow freak line about the chickens and Dustin’s teeth coming in was actually pretty clever for Troy.  He was glad Mike hadn’t been there because out of all of them, Mike might have laughed at the line.

 

Dustin knew he should just let the whole incident roll off his back.

 

_Roll off my poor, scraped up back_.

 

But he hadn’t, and that meant he was giving Troy’s words their power.  It meant Dustin himself was really worried that he would end up being some or all of those things. 

 

_Does that mean Troy is worried he might be stupid?  And are **we** the ones who make him feel that way?_

Dustin didn’t even want to think about Lucas and what that meant Lucas thought of himself.  It absolutely made no sense that Lucas would ever think of himself as “less than” in any way.  He was clearly the coolest of all of them and he could probably sit with the popular kids in the center of the lunchroom any time he wanted.  And if Lucas could feel “less than,” maybe that meant anyone could feel that way.

 

“Names will never hurt me” may be a great ending to a schoolyard chant, but it seemed like a motto that was impossible to live up to this past week.

 

_So maybe I’m wrong_ , thought Dustin.  _Maybe words **can** hurt us.  Maybe over time they’re too hard to ignore._

 

Dustin dragged his attention back to the stairs.  And after hearing nothing but silence from above, Mike turned back to Dustin.  Mike had totally broken character, and had on this goony, goofy grin that it seemed only Dustin could inspire.  Dustin was glad to know he was the one who usually got Mike to giggle until his sides hurt, or laugh until tears streamed down his face.  But it was Mike’s manic response to humor, even mean humor, that made Dustin suspect he would have also laughed at the “biting heads off chickens” line.

 

Mike giggled a little now, with the giddiness of having gotten away with something.  He said softly, “Good one, Orsik, but keep it down willya?”

 

Dustin nodded sheepishly.  “Sure.  Sorry.”  He looked around to Will and Lucas too, and muttered, “Sorry guys.”

 

Earlier this week when Dustin was still wallowing after the fight at the Big Toy, he was looking through his D&D stuff and the picture of Orsik on his character sheet.  Dwarves were one of the shortest races he could play, and when Will drew the party, Dustin’s character was the valley between two taller heroes.  And Mike had fixated on it too, having enemies call him short or having bartenders fail to see him approach the bar, or having Splug call him “Tiny Master” all the time.  The guys had even sung about Orsik being the “Tiny Master” to the tune of Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” a couple times.  Dustin knew Mike didn’t mean anything by it.  That he was just looking at, and focusing on, distinguishing features like those caricature artists Dustin saw at the county fair.  To Mike it was probably just storytelling shorthand.  Dustin was pretty sure none of them even knew he might be considered short one day.  He didn’t think he’d ever mentioned it in front of any of them until he told Lucas today.

 

And Dustin didn’t know why.  It wasn’t really something to be ashamed of.  And it wasn’t something Dustin could fix.  Or change.  So it didn’t make sense why he’d never talked about it. 

 

But Dustin hadn’t thought of that parallel when creating Orsik. 

 

_Humans were just too boring, no offence Will and Lucas_ , Dustin thought, _And elves seemed a little fruity._

 

Dustin just wanted a character who could build weapons and make cool stuff, and who would appreciate rocks the way he did.  He didn’t recognize the potential real life parallel to his probable future size.  But now, Dustin couldn’t help wondering if it meant something.

 

“What do you do, Orsik?” Mike prodded.

 

Every instinct told Dustin he should run now.  Have Orsik blow right past Troyen and book it for the portal.  Even if Troyen let the portal close with all of them on the other side, they could heal up a bit and re-start the portal by mixing the liquids in the colored pools. 

 

_Unless the bones and zombie bits messed up the magic in the pools,_   Dustin thought.  _Mike **had** made a big deal of those details_.  _And he made Lucas fall into one of them.  That could have been Mike’s payback for the hot tub and urinal cracks from last week, or it could be to show that the magic in the pools is gone._

But if they couldn’t get back in, then that was like they were allowing Troyen to put the Soul Rot curse on the Elder Tree.

 

_Running to your friends would also be bringing them back into the fight.  Are they ready for that?_

 

“How bad off are you guys?” Dustin asked Lucas and Will.

 

“Mostly dead,” admitted Lucas, gloomily.  “We can’t take much more.”

 

“Hopefully Troyen is pretty hurt too,” Will said, pointedly eyeing Mike.

 

Mike nodded.  “All of you can tell that Troyen is badly hurt, and that big spell he just did seemed like a last ditch effort to turn the tide.”

 

Dustin pushed down his instincts to run.  He didn’t want to back down this time.  He didn’t want to run away.  **_Again_**.  It seemed like that’s all he ever did.  **_Run._**  

 

_And a lot of the time running away doesn’t even save me._

 

Dustin knew it wasn’t the same thing to be brave in a game as in real life, but if there was ever a time to do it, it must be now. 

 

_And maybe if I can be brave as Orsik,_ t _hen someday I can be brave as Dustin too_.

 

“No running,” Dustin said aloud as he picked up the dice.  “I try to stab Troyen again with my dagger.”

 

Dustin rolled and hit, doing a decent amount of damage, but Troyen did not go down.

 

Will took his turn to help Lucas out of the pool so they could both approach the portal.  That was all they could do on their turns.

 

Lucas asked Mike, “Is the portal see-through now?  Can we even target Troyen?”

 

Mike shook his head.  “No.  It’s mirror-like just like the last time, you can’t see what’s happening in there, but you hear the signs of a struggle.”

 

“I have some spells that don’t really need line of sight, “observed Will.

 

“But I’ll be pretty useless unless we go back in,” said Lucas, resigned.

 

Dustin was filled with immediate regret.  It was Troyen’s turn and Dustin waited to see what he would do.  Despite his bravado of mere moments ago, Dustin realized he should have run for the portal, and not stayed to face Troyen James alone.

 

Mike made a roll behind the DM screen and said, “Troyen successfully grapples Orsik, pulling him close.”  To Will and Lucas: “You two can only hear the sounds of scuffling.  But then you hear Troyen say, ‘Give me the Bag of Holding.  Give me my phylactery.  This is your **_last_** chance.’ ”

 

“Can I see through the portal from my side?”  Dustin asked Mike.

 

“It’s sorta like looking through a waterfall, so it’s a little distorted and wavy, but yes.  You can see Will the Wise and Ehren on the other side of the portal.  Ehren is still dripping from his dip in the undead stew, and both of them are looking like they are about to drop.”

 

Dustin swallowed hard, thinking.  This was a little like the locked room mysteries he had been enjoying so much lately.  Dustin took inventory of everything he knew about Troyen, and everything he had on him, and everything still in this room.  Then he ran through the spells he thought Will hadn’t used yet.  Then he had an idea, but it was a crazy one.

 

_A Lucas-level crazy idea_ , thought Dustin.

 

But he needed more information to see if it would work.

 

“I can speak as a free action, right?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I call out loudly to Will the Wise.”

 

“What do you say?”

 

“You still have fireball left, right?”

 

Mike turned to Lucas and Will.  “You can hear him just fine.”

 

Will looked over at Ehren, who nodded.  Will said, “Orsik, it’s Will.  I still have the spell, but it’ll fill that entire room.”

 

“Did Troyen grapple me with one hand or both hands?” Dustin asked Mike.

 

Mike looked surprised at the question.  His eyes drifted skyward, giving Dustin the distinct impression he didn’t know the answer and was about to decide on the fly.

 

“He really wants the Bag of Holding, so he grappled you with both hands,” Mike responded.

 

“So can I see the blink ring?”

 

Mike raised an eyebrow and nodded.  “You can see Troyen has the blink ring on his bony left hand.  There is no way to tell if it has any charges left, but it **_is_** a beautiful ring.”

 

Dustin rolled his eyes, and gave a manic little giggle, he was getting into this crazy plan the more he thought about it.  “Uhh, yeah.  **_That’s_** why I was asking, I just wanted to admire the craftsmanship.”  Dustin shook his head at Mike’s weird color commentary, and thought,   _Just embrace the crazy, for once.  Maybe it was crazy for Lucas to come flying off the tire swing and run to my rescue.  Maybe this can be a tire swing moment.  For **me**_.

 

Dustin said, “For my action I try to grapple Troyen right back.  I am trying to grab at his arms so he can’t grab the Bag of Holding or activate the blink ring.”

 

Dustin rolled to grapple and was successful.  Mike said, “Orsik and Troyen are now locked in a death grip.  Troyen keeps trying to break free and grab the Bag of Holding off your belt, Orsik.”

 

“I just try to keep hold of him and I try to keep facing the portal, so his back is to it.”

 

“Hear that, Troyen?” Dustin cackled as Orsik.  “My friend Will the Wise is going to fireball this room and destroy you **_and_** your precious phylactery in one hit!”

 

Mike grinned at Dustin’s role-playing and then returned to his snarling Troyen voice and said, “He’ll kill you too, you stupid dwarf!”

 

“Maybe,” laughed Dustin, sounding a bit unhinged.  “Maybe not.  I’m still at pretty full health.  How’re **_you_** doing?”

 

“I’ll be fine in just one second,” growled Mike as Troyen.  Then Mike rolled and said, “Troyen frees his right hand and he reaches down to grasp the Bag of Holding at your belt.”

 

Dustin laughed even harder now.  “Ew, gross!  Bad touch!  Bad touch!”

 

To Mike, Dustin said, “I keep hold of his left hand and try to use my thieving skills to wiggle the blink ring off Troyen’s finger.”

 

“Give me an ability roll.”

 

Dustin rolled, and Mike made note of the result.  He looked up and announced: “You have a good hold on the ring, but it doesn’t come off his finger.”

 

“Just do it, Will the Wise.  Cast fireball through the portal!”

 

All three of the boys stared at Will expectantly.

 

Will looked nervous and admitted softly, “Fireball could kill Orsik too.”

 

Dustin rolled his eyes and pounded one fist on the table.  He was going for crazy-fun, but he was aware that he was starting to come off more like crazy-angry.

 

“Who cares, Will!  I just heard this week that I’ll never be a bard anyway.  All I’ll ever be is a fat, toothless carnival freak!”

 

Lucas’s eyes went wide, Mike cast his eyes down, and Will just looked confused.

 

Dustin lost all patience then, and briefly wondered if this was how Lucas felt every time he got bored of the party arguing about **_what_** to do and just **_did_** something instead.

 

_If so, I understand Lucas a lot better.  And maybe owe him an apology.  Or twelve._

 

Dustin reached out both of his hands toward Mike, who looked taken aback until Dustin grabbed Mike’s left hand in both of his hands.  Then he sat forward in his seat and pulled Mike toward him so they were acting out the grapple between Orsik and Troyen.

 

Dustin gave a hard yank on Mike’s left arm and Mike let out a surprised little squeak, but quickly recovered and went back to his Troyen snarl. 

 

Dustin said, “This jerk is the one that did this to you!  That made you all old and feeble.  Just do it, Will.  If you don’t, and I survive this, I swear I’ll snap your skinny old ass over my knee like a twig.  **_Just do it!_** ”

 

Will turned to Lucas, who nodded back and said, “He says to do it.  Light ‘em up, Will.”

 

Will raised his hands dramatically and said, “Will the Wise casts fireball through the portal and into that little room.”

 

As soon as Will said this, Mike pulled gently away from Dustin and put his head down behind the DM screen.  Dustin could see he was scribbling something there.

 

Then Will rolled to hit and Dustin found himself holding his breath.

 

_If Orsik dies_ , Dustin thought, _I wonder if Mike will let me roll up a new character.  Maybe this time I’ll pick an elf, after all.  Elves are tall and skinny **and** allowed to be bards._

 

Will announced his roll result and it was a hit, which meant that the whole room Dustin and Troyen were in was bathed in magic fire.

 

Mike said to Dustin, “Roll a D20.”

 

“What for?”

 

“Just give me the result and hand me your character sheet for a second willya?”

 

Dustin obeyed and Mike asked Will to roll for damage to everything in the room.  As Will made his rolls, and Lucas helped track the damage, Mike was still furiously writing something behind the DM screen.

 

Dustin paid close attention to the damage rolls to see if they would get close to knocking him to zero.  In the end it was a close thing, but unless the roll Mike had him make was relevant to the damage somehow, it looked like Orsik was still alive.  He had only a few hit points left, but he would live.  But so might Troyen.

 

Mike peeked over the DM screen at Will and Lucas and distracted them by asking, “What was that final number for the fireball damage?”

 

While Will read off the total damage, Dustin noticed Mike holding a folded note under the card table for him.  He grabbed it and held it in his lap, reading it.

 

Mike announced, “The fireball killed Troyen James and his Lich bones crumple at Orsik’s feet.”

 

Will and Lucas jumped to their feet, triumphant, and Lucas let out a little celebratory cry.

 

Dustin didn’t stand, he was still reading, trying to decipher Mike’s atrocious handwriting.  The note said, as best as Dustin could make out, “As Troyen’s body crumples at your feet, you see an image of his soul fade like fog into the Bag of Holding and you find that your hand still clutches the blink ring.  You also remember that Troyen was the only thing keeping the portal open.”

 

“Shit!”  Dustin exclaimed as he finally stood, staring at Will and Lucas.  They stopped their celebration abruptly when they saw the look on his face and the note in his hand.

 

“The portal!”  Dustin turned to Mike and immediately mimed putting on a ring and twisting it this way and that.

 

Mike gave him a little nod and an evil smile.

 

_Uh oh_ , Dustin thought.

 

            ---

 

Mike was torn between the needs of the story and the mechanics of the game.

 

The storyteller in Mike was **_thrilled_** when all the players rose to their feet in triumph at downing Troyen James.  But the rules-lawyer DM in him was crying out, _Will the Wise and Ehren can’t even **see** what happened.  _

 

Mike knew Dustin was well aware of the tension and suspense that still lingered, due to Mike’s note, but he had to bring Will and Lucas back to a place of worry and uncertainty too.

 

So he started talking softly, quiet enough that Lucas and Will had to lean closer to hear. 

 

“Will the Wise knows that the fireball spell was successful, but he and Ehren cannot see how the fireball affected Troyen or Orsik.”

 

Mike was glad to see the other boys slowly but surely return to their chairs and sink down in their seats.

 

Mike continued, “They both hear vague noises and the smell of burning hair wafts back through the portal, but they do not hear any voices, until they hear Orsik cry out. . . .”

 

Mike paused here and pointed with a smile to Dustin, who repeated his line like a pro: “The portal!”

 

“Before Will the Wise or Ehren have time to understand what Orsik meant, much less react to his panicked shout, the portal blinks out of existence.”

 

Mike paused to glance at Lucas and Will.  Lucas shot Will a worried look.

 

“Then you both hear a loud splash behind you.  And you turn and see that the blue liquid in the closest hot tub is rippling and has splashed all over.  The next thing you see is a squat figure bursting up from under the blue liquid, making the bones and zombie guts slosh back and forth in the pool.  You both are shocked to see that Orsik’s once luxurious beard is now blackened and burned short from the fireball and Orsik is holding up one hand with the blink ring on it.”

 

Mike gestured to Dustin who stood again, and glared at Mike, but then dutifully held one hand high and stated sourly, “I meant to do that.”

 

“Sure,” laughed Lucas.  “I meant to land in the zombie stew, too.”  To Will, “You don’t know what you’re missing.  So refreshing.”

 

Dustin turned his glare at Will then.  “I had to do it.  I had to put out my beautiful beard.  I want to keep what’s left of it.”

 

“And Troyen?” Will asked Orsik.

 

“You got him, Will the Wise.  I saw his essence go towards the Bag of Holding.”

 

Lucas nodded, “Then let’s get out the phylactery.  We have to destroy it.”

 

Mike knew they had been discussing how to do this amongst themselves ever since they found the phylactery.  Sometimes at school, or on the comms, the other guys would discuss it around Mike to see if he’d correct them or maybe reveal something to them.  Normally Mike would listen, but if they tried to weasel information out of him, Mike would mime locking his lips and throwing away the key.

 

_Little do they know how hard it is for me to keep my mouth shut_ , Mike thought.  _Or maybe they **do** know and they do it to torture me_.  _Jerks_.

 

Mike knew they planned to try the simplest option first: have Will the Wise cast Dispel Magic.  And since Mike had already advertised this was the last night of the adventure, they all seemed pretty sure there would be no side quest needed to destroy the phylactery.  And Mike had no reason to deviate from this, except that things with Troyen had gone a lot quicker than Mike had planned.  His role-playing and Troyen’s cool power move stalled things a little, but pretty soon Mike would have to find some excuse to go up and warn Nancy her big entrance was coming sooner than he had originally thought.

 

But dragging out this part seemed pointless, so he encouraged them to get right down to business.  Since they were all at pretty low health, they didn’t need much encouragement.  Orsik extracted the phylactery from the Bag of Holding and Orsik and Ehren stood guard while Will the Wise cast Dispel Magic.

 

Dustin asked, “So, did it work?”

 

Mike had a little description prepared and read it off, “After Will the Wise cast the spell, you could all see the dim light of Troyen’s soul within the phylactery go out.  All that is left is a dull-sheened rock.  You all know that Troyen James, the former necromancer and then Undead Lich has finally been destroyed for good.”

 

“Yes!”  Lucas pumped his fist.

 

Will and Dustin cheered too, and suddenly the three of them were on their feet again.  Lucas grabbed the prop of the phylactery from the dice bag and said, “We need to dump this rock into one of those stone basins over there.  Let Troyen’s soul-home be a urinal cake for the rest of time.”

 

Dustin laughed as he moved around the table and grabbed the prop.  “No way, Orsik is going to take this rock as a souvenir.  I’m going to polish it up and put it in our trophy hall.”

 

“What trophy hall?” scoffed Lucas, as he chased Dustin toward the couch, trying to grab back the superball prop.

 

“We’re going to have a superb fortress one day,” Dustin continued, dancing out of Lucas’s reach.  “Just like the Justice League or the Legion of Super-Heroes, we’re going to have a hall with all the trophies and mementoes of our adventures, and statues of all our fallen comrades.”

 

Mike smiled in amusement as Dustin and Lucas continued to chase one another around, arguing heatedly about whether Mike’s fallen Paladin character would have a memorial statue in the trophy hall of Dustin’s planned “superb fortress”.

 

Mike tore his attention away as Will approached him quietly.

 

“Mike?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Is Troyen really dead and gone?”

 

“Yep.  And the phylactery destroyed.  You guys did it.  You were amazing.”

 

“And do I, I mean, does Will the Wise feel any different?”

 

Mike knew what Will’s question meant.  And it was **_so_** **_hard_** to disappoint Will right now, when he was giving Mike his most hopeful look.  But Mike had a plan and he was sticking to it.  So he put on his most authoritative and neutral DM voice and said, “Will the Wise doesn’t feel any different since the death of Troyen and the destruction of the phylactery.  And looking down at the now still water in the pool, he sees that he is still old with a long white beard.  And your stat penalties have not changed.”

 

Mike bit down the “I’m sorry” he wanted to add once Will’s hopeful smile sputtered out like a used up sparkler, and he resisted giving Will any hint of what was to come.  But Mike knew how to distract Will and draw the others back to the table at the same time.

 

Mike leaned closer to the crestfallen Will and said softly, “But as Will the Wise looks at his reflection in the pool, he senses a hum over to his left, on the blank wall of the cavern.”

 

Will’s sad look was replaced with a curious one.  “I look over, what do I see?”

 

“You see what appears to be another portal opening on the far wall.  This one is different than Troyen’s portal and is much smaller.”

 

“I warn the others,” Will said.  Then, “Guys, come here, something is happening.”

 

Lucas and Dustin came back to the table and Will explained, “There’s another portal here.”  Will pointed to his graph paper with the map to show them where it was.

 

“Crap.  We’re not ready for another fight.”

 

“Anyone have any healing potions left?”

 

“I prepare to cast Magic Missile, depending on what we see.”

 

They were preparing for another battle or to roll initiative, and Mike wanted to head that off at the pass.  “You all stand, ready for a fight as the portal shimmers into view and a familiar face comes stepping out.”

 

Then Mike sat up straight, squared his shoulders, arranged his face in a pinched expression, and turned on a tight, officious, and vaguely British accent.

 

“Friends!” Mike said gesturing broadly.  “It is I, Aerandir of the Elder Tree, come to congratulate you on your victory, and to ask you to come back to the Elder Tree to rest and be healed.”

 

Dustin made a face.  “Ugh.  It’s just the mist-idiot.”

 

Lucas reached over and tapped Will.  Then again.  And again.

 

“What, Lucas?”

 

“You said you readied Magic Missile.”  Tap.  “Shoot him.”  Tap.  “Do it.”

 

Will looked like he didn’t know if Lucas was acting in character or making a joke.  But to be on the safe side, Will stayed in character and said, “I’m not shooting him, Ehren.” And when Lucas reached over for another tap, Will put up his hand, pointing it like a finger gun at Lucas.  “Now stop that or I’ll shoot **_you_** with Magic Missile.”

 

Mike loved their bickering, but interrupted anyway.  “Please.  No one needs to shoot anyone.  The danger is past.  You have destroyed Troyen James and his phylactery and saved the Elder Tree from being cursed with Soul Rot.  The Elf Princess Enelya has sent me to fetch you, so she can have an audience with you and thank you herself.”

 

Dustin looked suspicious.  “How do you even know what just happened here?”

 

Mike cleared his throat and tried to look guilty.  “Well, when I told Princess Enelya about your warning, she was much more concerned than I thought she would be.  You know,” Mike inserted a nervous laugh here, “I may actually be in trouble for turning you away the last time.”

 

“Good,” Lucas said.

 

“But with the information you gave Princess Enelya she has been using the scrying pools to watch what you have been doing since then.  And once she saw you in action, she has also been using the pools to see the things you have done in the past as well.  For your town.  And for the whole realm.”

 

“Creepy,” said Dustin.  “Peeping Princess.”

 

Mike tittered politely, remaining steadfastly in character.  He said, “You know, Princess Enelya can sometimes see the future in the scrying pools as well.  Things that may or may not come to pass.  I wouldn’t dare speak for her, but it was something that she saw that made her want to meet you all.  Please come.  We are all very grateful for what you’ve done.  You can get healed, and we’ll clean you up and then you can have an audience with Princess Enelya.”

 

Mike paused and looked pointedly at Dustin/Orsik.  “Please forgive me for what I said last time we spoke, Master Dwarf.  **_All_** are welcome.  Please come away from this dreary place.” 

 

Will looked at the other two, back and forth.  “So should we go to the Elder Tree?”

 

Lucas shrugged.  “We definitely need to heal and rest up.”

 

Dustin nodded.  “It’s safer than here at least.  Let’s go.”

 

Mike broke character then, and said, “Aerandir leads you through the portal to one of the welcoming branches of the Elder Tree.  Let’s take a little break here.  You guys can heal up while I’m gone.  I just need to go upstairs for a minute.”

 

Will gave him a raised eyebrow, but remained silent.

 

Lucas, of course, did not.  “What do you need to go upstairs for?”

 

Mike stood and marched towards the stairs.  “I’m just going to go to the bathroom.”

 

Dustin frowned.  “There’s a bathroom right there,” he said gesturing over to the small bathroom. 

 

Lucas laughed and waived his hand in front of his nose.  “Let him go.  He probably has to take a dump.”

 

As Mike bounded up the stairs, his face burned with annoyance and embarrassment at the laughter below.  He exited the basement and closed the door firmly behind him, and then raced for the landing.  Mike had to warn Nancy that this was all happening a little earlier than expected, and he could help her get ready.

 

Mike bolted up the stairs and burst through the closed door into Nancy’s room without knocking.  She looked over at him with raised eyebrows from her vanity table and demanded, “What happened to knocking first?”

 

Mike had forgotten.  This was a new rule of Nancy’s.  She was very concerned about **_privacy_** in the past few months.  Mike didn’t really get it.  Mom and Dad and Nancy herself came in and out of his room whenever they felt like it.  And they never knocked.  And Nancy never even used to **_close_** her door.  Lately not only had she been closing the door, but once or twice Mike had found it **_locked_**.  When Mike had complained to his parents about it Mom had said, “You’ll understand when you get older.”  And Dad peered out from behind his newspaper and said, “If your sister wants privacy, you leave your sister alone.”

 

But he’d promised her he’d knock, and he still needed her help tonight, so Mike hastily apologized, “Sorry, Nance.  Sorry.”  He then knocked feebly on the already open door and shot her a wide “ain’t I a cutie?” smile and asked, “Forgive me?”

 

Nancy sighed deeply, rolled her eyes, but said, “Sure” as she turned back to the mirror and fiddled with her hair some more.  “I know you wanted me to wear those Spock ears, but they just look so fake and lame, I thought we’d try something else.  C’mere.”

 

Nancy beckoned him over to the vanity table.  She was wearing shorts and a tank top, but her hair and make-up looked complete.

 

Mike had always thought his Mom was the prettiest of all the Moms.  Not that he bragged on his family like Lucas sometimes did, but he did think it.  Mike walked over and stood next to Nancy and looked at her reflection in the mirror as she dabbed at her lips with a tissue.  If Mom was pretty, Nancy must take after her, because Nancy was **_beautiful_**.

 

“See here,” she said, brushing her hair forward with her hands.  “With my hair all full and pulled forward like this, it covers my ears anyway.  We can just leave the pointy ears to the imagination.  Imagination will fill that in way better than those little rubber ears will.  Don’t you think?”

 

Mike looked at Nancy in the mirror and saw his own face reflected there too.  Nancy was perfect to play an elf.  She really looked the part.  Her features were delicate, her hair was full, her smile was kind, and her eyes were wise.

 

_And I look like the frog that will never get kissed or turn into a Prince._

 

Mike hated the way he looked sometimes.  He couldn’t even deny it anymore when people called him frog-face.  It was true.  His stupid big nose and big mouth.  And all the freckles that dotted his skin like a never-ending case of the chicken pox.  And his Mom always told him that he was so “cute” and “handsome.”

 

_But your Mom **has** to say that, right?  _

 

He’d heard one of his Aunts say he was still growing and maybe he’d “grow into” his looks.  Mike didn’t know exactly what that meant, but he hoped she was right all the same.

 

To Nancy he said, “You’re right.  It looks great.”

 

Nancy reached over to the vanity.  “And see, I finished the little crown.”  She placed it on top of her head.  “What do you think?”

 

When Nancy had suggested earlier that she make a little crown out of pipe cleaners and ribbons, and autumn leaves and flowers, Mike had just frowned and told her to go for it.  To Mike, making something like that seemed as hard as crafting an actual metal crown out of gold like a blacksmith.  It seemed impossible. 

 

But looking at it now, it looked amazing.  She had used dark green pipe cleaners, so it looked a little like grass, and she had wound ribbons and vines and flowers (some fake and some real) all the way around it.  And the ribbons trailed in her hair and down her back.  It really looked like something an Elf Princess who loved nature would wear.

 

_Is this a girl thing?_ Mike wondered.  _Do all girls just know how to do things like this?  Or is it just **Nancy** that seems to know, like, everything?_

 

Mike honestly thought it was just Nancy.  Mike knew tons of girls at school and most of them seemed like idiots.

 

“It looks perfect,” he said softly.  “You look perfect.”

 

Nancy huffed a little laugh and took off the crown.  “No need to butter me up, Mike, I already agreed to help, remember?”

Mike sometimes hated that Nancy seemed so perfect.  It was daunting to have to live up to that.  But other times he really admired her view of the world.

 

When they were younger, before her strict privacy rules, Mike sometimes piled into her huge bed with her and they would talk long after lights out.  She would tell him stories of books she had read and things she wanted to do, and all the places she wanted to go.  Once, as he was drifting off, struggling to stay awake to keep talking to her she had said, “Y’know, this **_could_** be a perfect place.”

 

“Hawkins?”

 

“No,” she had said, laughing.  “The world.  And me and Barb, we’re going to make it better.  Someday.”

 

And she had said it with such conviction, that she sounded like an adult making a promise.  And Mike had believed her – believed **_in_** her – so deeply that he didn’t want to be left out.  He had said, “What about me?  I can help.”

 

“You will.  We’re going to put you to work, Mike.”

 

Remembering back to that night now, Mike thought Nancy sounded a lot like Dustin’s Mom.  Dad called Mrs. Henderson “a hippie-dippy flower-child”.  Mike didn’t know what that meant, but he knew his Dad didn’t mean it as a compliment. 

 

All Mike knew is that he shared Nancy’s desire to make things better.  And if Nancy remembered that night too, or noticed he’d stolen her line for Enelya to use, she hadn’t said anything about it.

 

Nancy was always doing that in big and little ways.  Trying to make things better.  And sometimes when she was trying to make **_Mike_** be better, it could be hard or frustrating because she was always correcting him or showing him up.  And Mike would roll his eyes and call her “nag” or “Mom #2” and he was always annoyed or embarrassed in the moment.  But when he thought about it later, Nancy was usually right.

 

_She’s right about the ears,_ he thought.  _They look fake and lame._

 

And she was right about the crown.  And she was right about all the lines she changed.  They were all better.  They sounded more adult.  And she‘d made them sound old fashioned – just like an elf who was hundreds of years old would speak.  And she’d made them sound more like a girl.  Mike had no idea how she did it.  He couldn’t even point to a specific change that was the best example of it. 

 

But last Friday in his room Nancy complained, “It sounds like a grumpy old king,” and changed a lot of the lines for the better.

 

“Well, she is royalty,” Mike replied.

 

“I know.  But this is how a man sounds.  But a girl, even one who’s the ruler, would talk a lot nicer than this.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I think she has to.  It’s bulls--  It’s bullcrap.  But it’s true.”

 

Mike snapped back to the here and now once he realized Nancy had asked him something.  “Sorry, what?”

 

“What’s up?  Is it time already?”

 

Mike nodded.  “Almost, they were way quicker than I thought.  Can you be ready soon and come hang out in the kitchen waiting for the bell?”

 

Nancy nodded and moved to her bed, where her dress was laid out.  It was a long dark green dress made out of some velvet-like material.  Nancy had suggested it because the dark green resembled moss, and it was one of the most formal looking, full length dresses she owned.  She had worn it to a big family wedding and had only worn it to church since.  It was just too fancy to wear anywhere normal.

 

Nancy stepped into the dress and pulled it up.  The high neckline and the flowing length easily covered up her shorts and tank top.  As she struggled with the zipper, she gestured to Mike.  “Hop up on the bed and zip me up.”

 

Mike hopped up on the bed, and only managed to get a few fun bounces in before Nancy clucked at him to get on with it.  Then Mike stilled himself, and carefully zipped up the back of the dress, mindful to avoid getting the tank top or worse, Nancy’s hair caught in the zipper.  Once he was done, he hopped down and Nancy returned to the vanity to put the crown back on and fiddle with her hair one last time.

 

“You’re ready then?”

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.  “Is it weird that I’m nervous?”

 

Mike tilted his head to one side.  He didn’t think it was weird.  **_He_** was nervous too.  “Do you get nervous before the plays?”

 

“A little.”

 

“Well this is just like that.  Just a smaller audience.  And that’s why we’re starting with Will.  He wouldn’t interrupt you even if he was on fire.   That way you can get into the flow.  Do you have the figures?”

 

Nancy nodded and held up a little black pouch of felt tied with a string.  Nancy and Mike had stolen both from their Mom’s rag-bag near the sewing machine, and put the figures in the pouch.  Partially for safe-keeping and partially to keep them a surprise.

 

“And the lines?”

 

Nancy grabbed the sheaf of papers off the vanity.  After the bullying incident with Dustin and Lucas and James and Troy, there had been some more revisions to the script.  Once it was final, they had each made a final copy for themselves.  Mike wished Nancy had just copied it twice in her perfect block printing, but she had made him scribble his own copy.

 

Nancy smoothed the velvet dress while looking at herself in the mirror.  “What about Dustin and Lucas?” 

 

“If they throw you a curveball or ask something about the rules just put that off on your servant, y’know, **_me_**.  Just use that joke I wrote to shut them down.  They’ll laugh for sure and I can cover it later with them.  Dustin and Lucas will definitely jump in there and throw you off, but they don’t really mean to make you break character.  They just get excited sometimes.  If they get too riled up, then maybe in my world even girl leaders can be a little mean.  Just slap them back down.  I know you know how to do that.”

 

Nancy nodded and made minute adjustments to the crown.  “True enough.” 

 

Mike smiled up at her then.  He knew he wouldn’t get a chance again, because there was no way he was going to thank her or hug her in front of the guys, so he just sort of flung himself at her.  He threw his arms around her and pressed his cheek into the soft velvet of her dress, and mumbled, “Thanks Nancy.  I owe you one.”

 

“You owe me **_hundreds_** ,” Nancy said.  But Mike noticed she said it with a smile in her voice, and that she gave him a little squeeze back before pushing him away.

 

“Let’s go.  Let’s not keep the Nerd Squad waiting.”

 

            ---

 

Dustin was a little annoyed Mike was skipping all the bookkeeping at the end of the campaign. 

 

Mike told them to deal with healing themselves while he was gone, and they had done so.  But Mike had been gone for a really long time, so that gave Lucas time to start complaining that they didn’t get to loot anything since the portal closed so fast.  Dustin reminded him they did get a magic ring out of the deal, which only caused Lucas to start bickering about who should get the ring, and if they should sell it instead to split the money.  To be more **_fair_**.

 

Dustin didn’t intend to sell the ring or give it up without a fight, but he didn’t really want to fight with Lucas.  About anything, really, not after this week.  But definitely not about a magic ring in their D&D game. 

 

Mike usually avoided this type of thing entirely by making sure they found equal amounts of normal everyday items, or by making the weapons or magic items they found so specialized it only made sense for one of the characters to have them. 

 

A +2 Magic wand?  That was for Will the Wise.  A Magical ranged weapon?  Had Ehren’s name all over it.  +3 Heavy Plate armor, which none of them could really wear?  Sold, and the gold split three ways.

 

But a blink ring?  That could be used by **_anyone_** , and it was powerful enough that all of the characters would want it.   Dustin supposed it was possible Mike had never meant for them to have it at all.  Until Dustin took it upon himself to steal it away from Troyen.

 

Dustin had distracted Lucas from fighting about the ring, by reminding him about the Snickerdoodles.  And **_that_** had occupied some of the time when Mike had disappeared.  Lucas shared the cookies around with a smile, and the three of them speculated wildly about what adventure Mike had planned next.  Somehow this had gotten Lucas back onto the remarkable lack of loot this last adventure had produced.

 

That was when Dustin had pulled out his notebook and looked over the inventory he kept. 

 

_Lucas is right in a way.  We didn’t get a ton of stuff or gold from fighting Troyen._ _Maybe fighting pure evil doesn’t make you rich_ , thought Dustin.

 

Once Mike returned, Dustin was ready for the end of adventure bookkeeping he loved so much.  Mike would dole out the experience points, and they would see if any of them leveled up.  Then they could find a market and sell all the looted items they didn’t want and buy the items they sorely needed.

 

_And if I have to_ , Dustin mused, _I’ll find out the worth of the blink ring and give Will and Lucas a third of its worth from my share of the other treasure._

 

The bookkeeper in him knew this was the right thing to do.  He also knew if he argued hard enough that he earned the ring taking all the risks and making the thieving roll to get it, Will and Lucas would eventually give in and let him keep it.

 

This was the bookkeeping Dustin expected to enjoy when Mike finally came back.

 

But when Mike returned, the only expected thing that happened was Lucas asking: “Fall in?”

 

Mike replied, “Grow up.”

 

_That was expected_ , thought Dustin, _It would have been weird if Lucas hadn’t made some reference to Mike being gone so long_.

 

But instead of Mike sitting down and going through the administrative and bookkeeping details he and Dustin loved, (and Dustin knew Lucas found boring), Mike kept on with little story moments.  He walked them through being pampered and cleaned up by the elves of the Elder Tree.

 

Dustin was strongly reminded of the scene in _The Wizard of Oz_ when they finally got to Emerald City and were getting help cleaning up before the audience with the Great and Powerful Oz.  This parallel was so strong, Dustin was almost thankful his beautiful beard had been burned away by the fireball.  Otherwise, Dustin suspected Mike would have made a reference to the elves putting a bow in his beard just like they put a bow in the Cowardly Lion’s mane.

 

Thankfully, that story beat ended fairly quickly and then Mike got to something which Dustin _loved_.  Mike had the Elves ask the party to tell the story of how they happened to face Troyen James in the first place, and how they defeated him to save the Elder Tree.

 

Lucas and Will both looked at Dustin expectantly, and Dustin launched into the tale.  Lucas and Will munched on Snickerdoodles and interjected here and there, and Mike played the part of the elves with questions now and then.  Best of all, Mike didn’t interrupt to point out factual mistakes or correct Dustin when he had Orsik embellish the tale a bit for effect.

 

When Dustin finished re-hashing their history with Troyen and their most recent battle, Mike put on his Aerandir voice and gave a little clap.  “A glorious tale, well-told.  Are you three heroes ready for your audience with Princess Enelya?”

 

When the three of them nodded, Mike switched to his normal voice and began to read from a piece of notebook paper. 

 

“Aerandir takes you through an opening in the Elder Tree and you follow him higher and deeper through the passages to another branch of the tree.  Aerandir explains that this will be a private audience with the Princess, and leads you to a small chamber which is beautiful but simple.  At the other end of the chamber, where Aerandir is gesturing, there is a long staircase, carved into the wood itself.  There is a small stand near the stairs with a small bell and a mirror on it.  Like all the furniture here, the stairs and table are made of wood.  Wood that is still a living part of the Elder Tree.”

 

Mike stood then and moved to stand between the TV tray and the stairs.  He gestured down to the TV tray and removed the towel on it to reveal a small bell and a small hand mirror.  Next, Mike gestured to the stairs.

 

_So that’s supposed to be the little table and the stairs_ , Dustin thought. 

 

But then Dustin started to wonder where Mike was going with all this.  Mike had of course played female characters in prior campaigns, just not for an extended period of time.

 

_And not very well_ , thought Dustin. 

 

Mike had tried at times to put on a higher-pitched voice and to act “girly”, but it always came off as forced and awkward.  Dustin didn’t have the heart to tell Mike that even when he was trying to sound like a lady, he still sounded mostly like Mike.

 

_Or at least Mike on helium_.

 

Then Mike rang the bell.  It was shockingly loud for such a small bell.  And it reverberated through the basement bringing all the boys to attention.  Dustin still wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, and a quick glance at Lucas told him he had no clue either.  Lucas lifted his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

 

Mike spoke in his Aerandir voice.  “Heroes, if you would rise. . .” Mike followed this with a little “get on your feet” gesture as if he was inviting parishioners to stand for the next hymn.

 

This time Lucas frowned and exchanged a glance with Dustin.  They both turned to Will who was dutifully getting to his feet.  Lucas shrugged and then followed suit, so Dustin stood too.

 

Mike kept going, “. . . I am pleased to present the leader of the Elven people and the protector of the Elder Tree, Princess Enelya.”  Then Mike gestured up the stairs.

 

Dustin followed Will and moved closer to the stairs.  He followed Mike’s sweeping arm gesture with his eyes, not really expecting to see anything but the rickety wooden stairs themselves.

 

So he was surprised when the door at the top of the stairs opened, and there, bathed in the backlight from the hall, was what looked like an actual elf princess. 

 

Dustin thought of himself as a rational and practical person.  A man of science, or at least a boy of science.  He didn’t believe in fairy tales or magic or religion the way a lot of kids at school seemed to.  He knew after a split second this was just Nancy in a fancy dress.  But for just one moment he felt a sense of amazement and wonder that got his adrenaline pumping and his imagination working overtime.

 

He exchanged looks with the others.  Lucas was wide-eyed and softly said, “Whoa.”  Will was all smiles and couldn’t take his eyes off Nancy.

 

Dustin could understand why.  As Nancy gently shut the door, she started down the steps.  Dustin worried instantly that the length of her dress would cause problems or make her lose her footing.  But Nancy was as graceful as the part she was playing.  She appeared to _glide_ down the stairs, as if she was floating, and she didn’t even reach for the hand railing once.

 

Dustin hadn’t really given Nancy much thought before.  She was just Mike’s sister, and she didn’t really exist for him beyond that.  But now -- looking at her in the dark green dress and little circlet of flowers on her head, with her hair framing her face, which held a bright smile which appeared to be just for Dustin --  **_now_** he had some thoughts.

 

_Nancy isn’t just some sister, she’s a girl.  Maybe the prettiest girl I’ve **ever** seen_.

 

As Nancy reached the bottom of the stairs, Dustin realized why she hadn’t grabbed the railing, her hands were actually full.  One hand held a little scrap of material tied with a colorful string and the other held a few pages of notebook paper.  She put the little bag into Mike’s waiting palm, and began to read from the paper.

 

“Welcome heroes, and thank you for coming to the Elder Tree to meet with me.”

 

“Back,” Lucas said shortly.

 

Nancy looked up from her papers, flustered.   “What?”

 

And Dustin could tell that it was her real voice and the voice she had been using before was only her Enelya voice.

 

“Coming **_back_** to the Elder Tree you mean,” Lucas continued unkindly.  “We’ve been here before y’know?  We were turned away.”

 

Will immediately gave Lucas a little slap on the shoulder which Dustin interpreted as meaning, “Don’t embarrass us in front of the Princess.”

 

Nancy still looked rattled, and Dustin was about to say something when Mike jumped in.

 

“Remember, Princess, I did tell you that they were the ones who brought the warning, and that I uh,” Mike looked away from her and hammed it up with a guilty sideways look, “I did send them on their way.”

 

“Of course,” Nancy said, her face hardening.  “You were the one that kept these brave heroes from me, weren’t you?”  She sounded annoyed, and she turned to glare at Mike.  “Aerandir, I must stress that the next time such important heroes come to call, that you bring them to see me at once.  Understood?”

 

Mike bowed his head and put up his hands in apology.  “Of course M’lady.  A thousand pardons M’lady.”

 

_Boot licking toady_ , thought Dustin, shaking his head in disgust at Aerandir.  _I just hope I don’t sound like that when I say “M’Lord” and “M’lady”._

 

Mike put on a pleading expression and asked, “Is it the lashes for me again?”

 

Nancy’s face remained impassive, but she said, “No.  I am in a forgiving mood.”

 

Mike bowed his head even further, and said, “Of course.   M’lady is **_so_** wise and **_so_** merciful.”  Then Mike really and truly bowed before her and planted exaggerated stage kisses on Nancy’s hand in supplication.

 

Dustin watched Nancy; she seemed completely into the scene.  She rolled her eyes and made a tsk-ing noise with her tongue that didn’t seem very elf-like, and then she snatched her hand away from Aerandir’s groveling.  Then she wiped her hand on her velvety dress in feigned disgust over Aerandir’s slobber.

 

Dustin laughed.  And he loved Nancy in that moment.   She was amazing.  It was clear she had performed before.

 

And he couldn’t wait to interact as Orsik with Aerandir and Enelya.  Dustin had some experience with performing himself, and his Mom had promised he could go to theater camp when he was older.

 

_I may not be at the level of the Wheeler kids,_ Dustin thought.  _But I’m no slouch either_.

 

Nancy returned to her notes.  “After your warning, I watched you using the scrying pool, to see how you were faring in your search for Troyen.  I also used that time to scry further into your past and saw many of your famous deeds.  Your triumphs and your losses.”  Nancy bowed her head then.  “I saw the fall of your friend the Paladin.”

 

Dustin glanced at Mike then, and Mike broke character just enough to flash Dustin a sad little nod.

 

“There was something else I saw in the pool.  Something that may yet come to pass.  But that is for another time.  The reason I wanted to meet with you now is to thank you.  To truly thank you for defeating Troyen James and saving the Elder Tree from his evil plans.  And I have something for each of you for your heroic deeds.  A gift from my people, in gratitude.”

 

Dustin understood then.  This was **_just_** like the Gifts of Galadriel scene in _The Lord of the Rings_.  He noted again the little bag and wondered if there was some kind of prop in it.  He wouldn’t put it past Mike to get some little fake rings for the elves to give Will and Lucas, so they all had one.

 

Dustin knew Tolkien’s works pretty well, and the closest analogue to Orsik was Gimli the dwarf.  And he knew what Gimli did in that scene, he asked for a lock of Galadriel’s hair.  Dustin wanted to interact with Nancy, and now he knew exactly how to do it. 

 

            ---

 

Nancy Wheeler couldn’t believe how fast the boys interrupted her.

 

_One line_ , she thought, exasperated.  _Lucas let me get one whole line out before interrupting._

_Boys are **so** rude._

 

_Still, Mike warned me_ _they would be like this_ , she thought.  _And we handled it._

 

She understood what the end of the story was supposed to be.  The evil villain was defeated and the petty bureaucrat would get his comeuppance.  It was easy enough to turn anything that threw her off into a chance to yell at or make fun of Aerandir.  Mike had come up with a couple of lines to throw in if the boys interrupted, but Nancy had been sure she wouldn’t need them.  She’d thought this would be more like a play, and that the Nerd Squad would just listen to her recite her lines, and only cut in when she asked them something.

 

But this was more interactive than that.  Scarier, true, but also more exciting.  And maybe more fun.  She could see why Mike would like this type of thing.  He’d always been a quick thinker and good with words.  And he was always reading **_something_** , so his vocabulary was pretty good for his age.  Even if a lot of it was nonsense words like necromancy or bugbear or phylactery.

 

Nancy went back to her lines.  “I really must thank you all.  Having seen your deeds, present and past, you are a true Party of heroes to be reckoned with.  But you are each unique in your needs, so I want to reward you each individually.”

 

The three boys shuffled around and eyeballed each other with excitement.  Lucas elbowed Dustin, who giggled.

 

“Will the Wise, please come forward.”

 

Will gave Nancy an eager nod and stepped forward.  Nancy had known Will the longest, and was used to him being around.  Will was like Mike’s version of Barb.  That one friend who’d always been there and would always be there.

 

Will’s brother, Jonathan, was in Nancy’s grade at school.  The other kids considered him to be sort of a surly loner.  Barb thought he was a little weird.  Nancy didn’t think that was fair.  Jonathan wasn’t unfriendly, not exactly.  But he wasn’t friendly either.  And “kind” was not one of the first words to come to mind to describe him.

 

But Will must not take after him much, because “kind” was a **_great_** word to describe Will.  Will was always polite and helpful whenever he was around.  Maybe he was just on his best behavior when he was at someone else’s house, but Nancy didn’t think so.   When she and Mike had been rewriting the lines over the last week, Mike had described him in much the same manner.  And he didn’t do it in a demeaning way, he wasn’t making Will out to be a “goody-two-shoes” or a “brown noser.”  Mike seemed to appreciate in Will some things he may have lacked himself.

 

All Nancy knew is that Mom and Dad thought Will was a good influence on Mike.  And Nancy had to admit Mike sometimes behaved differently around Will.  When Will stayed for dinner, Will would always help clear the table and help clean up.  And Mike would follow along as if he did that every night, like it was his normal routine.  Nancy knew for a fact that Mike normally left the dinner table just as it was, expecting Mom, or Nancy herself, to do **_everything_**. 

 

As Will approached her, Nancy studied him.  His smile was shy, and he seemed nervous, which made no sense to Nancy.  She had known him since his first sleepover when he and Mike had been stupid little kindergartners and tried to scare her.  Nancy had easily turned the tables and scared the crap out of them, instead.  Nancy gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and a little wink.  His smile deepened and the little beauty mark above his lip almost disappeared in the curve of his cheek and lips.

 

“Will the Wise.  You are a brilliant Wizard.  And no matter how big or small you are, or how old or young you are, you bring light to your Party – and to this Realm.   I think you agree with something I have always believed.  That this Realm could be a perfect place.”

 

Will nodded solemnly.

 

_He takes this so seriously_ , Nancy thought.  _And Mike was right, he doesn’t seem like he’s going to interrupt_.

 

“And I think you need to stay in this Realm for many more years and bring your light to those who have forgotten there is still light **_in_** this world.  But, since you are merely a human, and you have a pitifully short life span . . .”

 

Dustin interrupted then as Orsik, “From **_our_** perspective.”

 

Nancy had lost her rhythm after the first interruption, and she wasn’t going to let that happen again.  She glanced at Dustin indulgently.  “Yes, Master Dwarf, from **_our_** perspective.”

 

She turned back to Will and continued, unwilling to let Dustin take the spotlight from Will.  He’d have his turn soon enough.

 

“To stay in this world and do what must be done, Will, you **_must_** be healed of the Soul Rot curse.  Once you are restored to your former self, you can continue to be a beacon of light against the darkness for years to come.”

 

When Mike explained Enelya had to touch Will to heal him, Nancy had balked.  She suggested they give him some soda or other fizzy drink as a “potion.”  Or a Tic Tac as a “healing pill.”  Or that she just say some magic words over him.  Touching her brother’s friends seemed a little odd.

 

Mike had allowed Nancy to make tons of other changes and suggestions, but he was adamant on this one point.  “That’s not how healing really works in this world.  You need the laying on of hands,” he told her.

 

That seemed like a weirdly specific way to put it, so Nancy guessed it was a phrase from D&D or one of the other endless fantasy books Mike was always reading.

 

Then Mike made his second point.  “And you know that Will responds to touch.  You were there when he broke his finger.”

 

That was true.  Last year, Will had fallen while riding his bike and hurt his finger.  The boys were closest to the Wheeler house when this happened, so Nancy and Mom had both come running when Lucas showed up to get them.  Nancy recalled that her Mom’s soothing words didn’t do much to calm Will down, but simply touching him, holding him, had worked like a charm.

 

Then Mike laughed, and put the final nail in the coffin.  “Besides, Dustin and Will are **_both_** touchy-feely.  You’re not getting out of that basement without a hug.”

 

So Nancy had given in, and now, in the moment, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal.  She reached out her hands towards Will.  “May I?”

 

He nodded and stepped eagerly forward.  She placed her hands on either side of his face, cupping his rounded cheeks.   His big eyes looked up at her, and he seemed so young and small in that moment.  Then, as she pressed slightly on his face and mouthed some nonsense words, Will’s eyes shone with tears, pooling on his lower lashes, threatening to fall.

 

“It is done,” Nancy proclaimed and removed her hands gingerly from Will’s face. She gestured to Mike, who picked up the small mirror from the TV tray and put it in front of Will.

 

Nancy smiled at Will.  “Look.  You are yourself again.”

 

Nancy didn’t get what Will expected to see, but either he was **_really_** into this, or he was way better at acting than she thought.  Mike peeked around the mirror at Will and gave him a small smile.  And then a single tear finally escaped Will’s eye and he thrust himself into Nancy’s arms, whispering, “Thank you, Princess.”

 

Nancy hugged him tightly, the script pages crinkling along his back.  Nancy rubbed her free hand up and down his back as she’d seen her Mom do when he was hurt.  Will exhaled a shuddery little breath as he gave her another squeeze.  It felt great to be gifted with such heartfelt thanks, when she really hadn’t done that much.  Nancy glanced at Mike as he moved back to put the mirror back on the tray.  He shot them a wistful glance.  She thought she understood what he was feeling, but he brought this on himself.

 

_When you give away the lines you’re maybe too embarrassed to say yourself, you also lose out on the thank you hugs too._

 

Will released her, and seemed slightly embarrassed.  She couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed for crying or for hugging her.  But he shrugged the embarrassment off quickly and thanked her again as he stepped back.

 

She turned her attention back to the script and faced Lucas.  “Ehren of New Horizon, come forward.”

 

Lucas did not hesitate.  He moved fluidly, easily.  He stepped right up to her, and then gracefully bowed to her.  It was not theatrical, but formal and simple. 

 

_Lucas is suave_ , Nancy thought, impressed.

 

Nancy knew this word because it was the special name brand of shampoo her Mother used.  Sometimes, Nancy would shower in her parent’s bathroom and would get to use her Mom’s fancy shampoo.  The shampoo in the bathroom she and Mike fought over was some stupid, generic kiddie shampoo.

 

So Nancy knew suave meant something like charming.  Out of all the Nerd Squad members, Lucas was the most like the boys she knew at school.  Meaning he was pushy and aggressive, but also quite charming.

 

As she looked him over, with his close cropped hair and expressive smile, she thought, _He’s going to be a heartbreaker someday_.

 

This was the first time Nancy saw Lucas up close since the day of the fight.  The raised bruise that still colored the skin under his eye looked raw and painful.

 

_If only I had real healing powers, Lucas could really use some._

 

She smiled at him kindly, trying to radiate warmth.  Mike had been so impressed by Lucas rushing to help Dustin, that they had changed the lines for Ehren.  Mike had said, “If Ehren is brave, then Lucas is a lot like his character.  He’s a really good friend.” 

 

Nancy agreed Lucas deserved praise, and read the revised passage.  “Ehren of New Horizon, I have seen much of your exploits in the scrying pool.  You are a man of action, and of selfless bravery.”  She gave a small restrained laugh, “I have seen that you are willing to literally jump off a cliff to protect the smallest and most vulnerable among you.”

 

Lucas smiled and gave proud looks to Will and Dustin.

 

Mike’s original line had been “smallest and weakest,” but Nancy asked him to change it.  Even though she knew Enelya was referring to the little goblin they had taken under their wing, Mike was being pretty obvious with the parallels to real life.  Lucas was clearly willing to protect others in real life too.  The smallest, meaning Will, and the weakest, meaning Dustin.  But Nancy knew if it was obvious to her, it could be obvious to the boys too, and she didn’t want to call Dustin the “weakest.”  So they struggled to find a word less insulting that would fit both Splug and Dustin, and settled on “most vulnerable.”

 

“And we know how much you care about your little goblin friend, and I have my people out looking for him even now, so that you may know Splug is safe and so that you may be reunited.”

 

All three of the boys looked pleased at that, especially Will.  Then Lucas looked worried and said, “Wait.  That’s not my gift though, right?  Finding Splug?  I was hoping for something cool.  And worth a lot.”

 

Nancy smiled, nearly breaking character.  Mike had warned her Lucas played his character as sort of greedy, but this was more direct than she expected.

 

“No, that’s more a gift to you all.  For you, Ehren, brave protector, we have this quiver of fifty magical phasing arrows.  These arrows can pass harmlessly through anything and they will only strike when and what you want them to strike, as long as your aim is true.  Normally this type of magical arrow is reserved only for the most elite Elven archers, but we trust a hero like you to make the right decisions about when to use these arrows, in order to save those that most need saving, and in order to only strike at those that most deserve it.”

 

Lucas looked excited, and started to ask a bunch of questions.

 

“How much are they worth?  Can I retrieve them and re-use them?  So I can shoot right through walls **_and_** through the other party members?  This is so cool!”

 

Nancy smiled inwardly.  She decided to use one of the lines Mike wrote for her when the boys were asking rules-based or in-game questions she had no idea how to answer.  “I will direct all your questions about the details of the arrows to my faithful servant, Aerandir.”

 

She pointed to Mike and the three boys looked over at him skeptically.

 

She continued with the rest of Mike’s dialogue, “Mist-idiot he may be in your eyes, but he is really quite knowledgeable about how things work in this realm, and once we are done here, he will be able to answer any of your questions.”

 

The boys laughed then, and Lucas nudged Dustin and nodded.  Nancy saw Mike was right.  He had said this exchange would get laughs because it contained callbacks to things the other boys had said.

 

“I hope you will be patient with Aerandir, brave Ehren,” she continued.  “Please do not try to place him into your Bag of Holding.  I must remind you again, living things **_cannot_** go into the Bag of Holding.”

 

This time Dustin laughed super loud and doubled over with mirth.  Mike and Will did some weird movement with their arms, and then Will leaned close to Lucas and whispered smugly, “Rules lawyered by a Princess.”

 

Lucas looked put upon and waved his hand.  “Yeah, yeah.”  Lucas pushed Will playfully away, and turned back to Nancy.  “I’ll be patient.  I promise.  Thank you Princess.”

 

Lucas stepped back, and Nancy turned finally to Dustin. 

 

Mike warned her Dustin would be most likely to interrupt, but that he was a “great” role-player.  He was definitely the one Nancy was the least comfortable with, and the one she knew the least about.  Mike had told her of Dustin’s condition, of course.  And she had heard her Mom gossiping about it, but she didn’t have a clear idea in her mind what it meant.  Honestly, she wasn’t sure Mike understood the kind of problems CCD could cause for Dustin down the road, either.  But Mike was clear about wanting to reassure Dustin as best he could.  And Nancy wanted to do his words justice.

 

She followed the script and didn’t call Orsik to her.  Instead, she moved toward him, her dress swaying as she moved.  She watched Dustin as she came closer.  His baseball cap was askew on his piles of curls.  Dustin gave her a wide, toothless smile that was so genuine, and so open.  Nancy had no idea what kind of stone-hearted monster wouldn’t instantly smile back at him, but she tried to resist for the story.  She knew Mike regarded this as a serious moment of race-relations in the Realm.  But in the end, she couldn’t help but return Dustin’s smile, at least briefly.

 

Then she stood before him and curtsied formally.  “Master Orsik, you are the first Dwarf to ever be welcomed to my private audience chambers, and I am honored to meet you.”

 

Mike had stressed Dustin was supposed to be playing a grumpy old Dwarf, but Nancy couldn’t see any of that in Dustin’s face right now.  He seemed happy and excited, as he grabbed the sides of his oversized sweatshirt, pulled them out from his body, put one foot in front of the other, and bent at the knee, perfectly mirroring her curtsy.  He said, “The honor is all mine, M’lady.”

 

She couldn’t keep in a burst of laughter and quickly turned it into a cough and cleared her throat.  She was about to return to the speech, when Dustin just kept on talking.

 

He had a satisfied smile on his face as he held out his palm and said, “I would only ask for one thing, Princess, and that is for a lock of your Elven hair.”

 

Nancy was taken aback.  This was getting weird.  She noticed Will and Lucas were smiling and nodding appreciatively.  Nancy figured this must have some inside meaning she didn’t understand.  Then Mike was beside her.  He frowned and rolled his eyes, almost apologetically.  Then, with his hand kept low, he made a downward slapping gesture.  She understood what he meant, and began to ad-lib.

 

Nancy pulled herself up to her full height so she towered over the boys.  She glared down at Dustin, who suddenly looked alarmed.  “Such rudeness!  I am a **_Princess_**!  **_No one_** may touch my hair!”

 

She risked a quick glance at Mike, who gave her a thumbs up.  She said, more evenly and calmly, “If you want an **_Elven_** hair so badly, take one of these!”

 

She reached over to her brother’s unruly mop of hair, got a firm grip on a few strands, and yanked savagely.  With no further comment she deposited Mike’s hairs into Dustin’s still outstretched hand.

 

This got a **_big_** reaction.  Will and Lucas laughed hysterically.  Mike let out an oversized “Yaiiiow!” and gave her a betrayed look so comical, she almost laughed herself.

 

Poor Dustin just stood there dumbstruck, looking down in horror at the hairs in his hand.  As if Nancy had placed a freshly squeezed turd there for his inspection.  His mouth turned down in a look of disgust and he tried to shake the offensive hairs off his palm, but due to static electricity, they just hung there, swaying gently as Dustin shook his hand over and over.

 

Lucas had his hand up to his head and was shaking it back in forth in apparent disbelief, as Will half-collapsed against him giggling.  Lucas said, “Gimli you are **_not_**.”

 

Mike had given up his head rubbing act and was laughing too, watching Dustin frantically shake his hand.

 

Dustin finally managed to dislodge Mike’s hair from his hand and gave an intense shudder of revulsion as they floated to the basement floor.  He muttered under his breath, “Mist-idiot cooties.”

 

With one more full body shudder he turned back to Nancy.  “Sorry Princess.  I didn’t mean to offend you.”

 

“No offense taken, Orsik,” Nancy smiled down at him.  “And no harm done.”

 

“Except to **_me_** ,” Mike stage whispered behind her.

 

Nancy ignored her brother and smoothed her pages.  This was taking way longer than she thought it would.  She went back to her lines.  This section was written in a more open ended way, anticipating time for some back and forth with Dustin.

 

“I understand that you want to be a bard.  Is that correct?”

 

Dustin nodded sheepishly.  “Yeah.  Sure.  But y’know, dwarves can’t be bards can they?  And I’m a dwarf, so  . . . “  Dustin trailed off with a resigned look and a little gesture to himself from head to toe.

 

“But you are the mighty Orsik.  You are the first Dwarf to grace this chamber with your presence.  You are the brave adventurer who has undertaken multiple fields  of study, so that you are always learning something new.  Are you not?”

 

Dustin looked a little sad then, not pumped up by the praise of his many accomplishments.  “Yep, that’s me.”  He looked down then.  “Still a dwarf though.  Y’know, for the record.”

 

Nancy nodded.  Their dialogue worked pretty well.  Even though she was changing a few things on the fly, the balance remained as they wrote it.  She believed Mike was the most proud of this next part.  He had gotten all quiet and humble when they read through it.  So Nancy tried to keep it as close as possible to what Mike wrote.

 

“You were born a Dwarf, that is true.  But you would not let the mere happenstance of how you were born hold you back, would you?”

 

Dustin looked up at her curiously, but didn’t say anything.

 

_You don’t get off that easy, kid.  The Princess demands an answer_.

 

“ ** _Would_** you?”

 

Dustin remained silent, but his mouth turned up slightly and he slowly shook his head “no”.

 

Nancy thought he looked so determined and hopeful, she wanted to break her own rule and hug him herself.

 

Instead, she just kept reading.  “I can see the possible future, so you should believe me when I say. . . ”  She paused and looked down at Dustin.  She met his gaze, not breaking eye contact.  “ . . . that you can be **_anything_** you want to be.” 

 

Dustin’s lip trembled then, and his eyes glazed with tears as well.  Then, when he smiled his huge smile, his cheeks rose and his eyes squinted just enough to release a few tears.  Dustin chuckled softly and swiped his sweatshirt sleeve across his face.

 

Nancy continued.  “I heard the tale you told my people.  You were born to be a bard.  The cadence of your storytelling, your words,” she put her hands out together and then moved them apart in an imitation of how Dustin used gestures when speaking.  “Your **_showmanship_**.  It made the scene come to life. Even to me, and I had already seen it using the scrying pool.”

 

Dustin’s smile was still full and his face was dry of tears.  He nodded to her, but didn’t speak.

 

“We have bards here, of course, and Aerandir can set you up with an apprenticeship, and in time **_you_** will be a bard.”

 

Dustin asked hopefully, “The first dwarven bard?”

 

Nancy smiled down at him.  “The **_only_** one I know of.”

 

Dustin gave her a devilish smile.  “Great!  Well, I’ve already been working on a song.  It’s called ‘On Your Mom Again.’” 

 

Lucas immediately reached for Dustin.  One hand pulled him close and the other clapped over Dustin’s mouth. 

 

Lucas shook him slightly and said, “Just say ‘thank you’, Orsik.”

 

He lowered his hand to reveal Dustin’s smirk.  Dustin said, “Thank you Orsik.”

 

Nancy recognized his take on the old Burns and Allen routine, but would not indulge it.  She cocked her head and gave him an irritated look that meant, “is that the way you should talk to a Princess?”

 

Dustin straightened and put on a more serious expression.  He said, “Thank you, Princess.  I’d love to be a bard.”

 

“You’re very welcome.  Thank you all again for what you have done for the Elder Tree and my people.  You are all welcome here any time.  I will take my leave of you now, and remember that Aerandir will be able to help you with all your questions.”

 

The script was officially over, except for presenting them with the new miniatures.  Nancy teased Mike all week about the crappy gifts he gave the family while secretly saving his money to buy his friends metal minis.  Mike finally insisted she hand out the minis and say they were from both of them.  Nancy had made this change on paper but didn’t intend to go through with it.  She had even less desire to take credit for the minis after seeing how much Mike missed out on the gratitude of his friends.  If Mike was going to let the Nerd Squad think Enelya’s poetic tribute to them was all Nancy, she was going to make sure they knew the gifts were all Mike.

 

_Also, I feel a little guilty for yanking out his hair.  But only a **little**._

 

Mike nudged her then, the little makeshift bag in his hand.  He nodded toward it, as if to remind her.

 

She dropped the Princess persona like a stone, and put on her normal friendly voice. 

 

“That was so much fun, you guys, thanks for letting me play along.” She looked at her brother and grinned.  “It was a lot of fun getting to boss Mike around.”

 

Mike gave her a sour look, “That’s all you ever do anyway.”

 

_Little jerk.  Far cry from the sweetheart you were upstairs._

 

But she gave him that one.  He wasn’t going to be gooey in front of his friends.  She turned back to the other three.  ”But I’ve really got to head back upstairs.”

 

She was greeted by a chorus from the other three.

 

“C’mon stay.”

 

“Don’t go yet.”

 

“This is the best role-playing we’ve had.”

 

Nancy patted Mike’s shoulder.  “I’m leaving you in good hands.  And I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but Mike’s been saving up and got you all a gift.  He just won’t shut up about how awesome you guys are and how good you are at this game.  It makes for pretty boring dinner conversation, actually.”

 

She gave Mike’s shoulder a little squeeze.  “You should show them.”  Then to the Nerd Squad: “They’re actually pretty cool, and they fit the story perfectly.  Thanks again you guys.”

 

As she turned away, she heard a chorus of “Thanks Nancy,” followed by a lot of talking about miniatures. 

 

Nancy took her time on the stairs.  Her official excuse would be she wanted to be careful due to the long hem of her dress.   The actual truth was she wanted to listen to Mike and his friends for just a little longer.  To hear Mike get some of the thanks she knew he craved.

 

“This one’s for you, Lucas.  See how the new bow doesn’t show the arrow?”

 

“Sweet!  Because it’s already phasing?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Mine is awesome, I can’t believe you found a dwarf with an instrument.”

 

“It was hard to find.  The guy at the hobby store helped me find it in Dragon Magazine.  He had to order it special.  That instrument is called a lute.  You’ll be getting a lute that’s also a weapon once you get done with the bard training.”

 

“Sweet!  I’m getting a blade put onto the end of my lute.  I’m gonna lute the shit out of the bad guys.”

 

“Or your singing voice can kill them dead, instead.”

 

“Bite me, Lucas!  What’d you get, Byers?”

 

This stopped Nancy, and she turned at the top of the stairs to look down.  Will was studying his figure.  “It’s Will the Wise, but I’m all young and, like . . .”  Will paused modestly, trying to think of the right word.

 

“Clean shaven?” supplied Dustin.

 

“Yep, no more long white beard for me.”

 

To Will, Mike said: “I hope you like it.  The mini is supposed to be like a young dashing Wizard or something.”  Then, to the other two, “I mean Will does have the highest Charisma score of all of you.”

 

Will nudged Mike’s arm.  “I love it.  Thanks, Mike.”

 

Even from where she stood, Nancy could see Mike’s blushing smile.  She turned back then and opened the door to the basement.  Sometimes she just wanted to pound Mike into paste.  And Mike and his Nerd Squad always being underfoot was one of the main reasons she kept her bedroom door shut all the time.  But right now, in this single solitary moment, Nancy liked them.  All of them.  And she was glad she let Mike talk her into playing the elf Princess. 

 

“What are we gonna do with the old minis?”

 

“Maybe you guys might run into your evil doppelgangers at some point.”

 

“What the hell is a ‘doppelganger?’”

 

“Well, let **_me_** explain it to you.  In song.”

 

As Dustin’s voice droned on in a surprisingly strong tenor, Nancy shut the basement door and left the world of the Elder Tree behind.

 

One of the best parts of the real world compared to Mike’s fantasy world, aside from indoor plumbing, was probably soda.  As Nancy went down the hall she detoured toward the fridge to sneak a Tab.  She and Mike were only supposed to drink the generic store brand sodas.  Apparently, kids weren’t good enough for brand name soda, for some reason.  She was sure this had to do with money and was more her Dad’s rule than her Mom’s.  But after all the work she put in helping Mike, she felt she deserved a reward.

 

Nancy grabbed a can from the fridge and set it on the counter.  She didn’t even have time to pull the tab open with that satisfying “crack,” before her Mom entered the kitchen moving faster than she’d been moving in months.

 

“Nancy, there you are.  Honey, I need you to do a favor for me, okay?  The baby is coming and your Dad and I have to go.”

 

Nancy, who had been mentally preparing to defend herself for drinking a name brand soda, felt her eyes go wide at the same time her mind went blank.  What possible favor could **_she_** do?  All she could stammer was “W-What?”

 

Dad appeared then, holding a bag in one hand and his glasses in the other.  His hair was askew like he had been napping the Saturday away.

 

“We have to go to the hospital.  Right now.” 

 

Nancy’s mind was spinning.  She didn’t remember anything about when this happened the last time.  She had been too little.  She had just stayed with her Aunt and came home to find Mom and Dad there with little Baby Mike. 

 

Nancy knew Mom would have to go to the hospital to have the baby, but Dad was acting nervous and scared and that made Nancy feel the same.

 

Dad touched Mom lightly, “We have to go now.  This is happening.”

 

Mom looked at Dad and pursed her lips.  Nancy had seen that same look when she was trying not to yell at Mike.  Mom said in clipped tones, “I’m well aware.  **_I’m_** the one it’s happening to.” 

 

Then Mom took in a deep breath and Nancy wondered if that was a special “I’m in labor” deep breath or her normal “try and keep your temper” deep breath.

 

“Just calm down and go put that in the car.  Back the car out.  I’ll be there in a second, I have more instructions to give Nancy first.”

 

Dad looked like he might say something, but apparently thought better of it.  He left for the garage.  Nancy’s eyes followed her Dad, but her mind wandered.  She was thinking of hospitals and health class and the statistics they’d heard about infant mortality and women dying during childbirth.

 

_Why have I never thought of this before_?

 

Mom snapped her fingers at Nancy.

 

“Nancy, I need you to watch the boys until Mrs. Henderson gets here, okay?  She and Dustin are going to stay here, so she can watch you guys until your Dad and I come home from the hospital.”

 

“Okay,”  Nancy nodded.  “But shouldn’t I come with you?  Me and Mike?  To be with you?”

 

Karen smiled and shook her head.  “The doctors wouldn’t allow that sweetie, you’d just be stuck in the waiting room for God knows how long.  Just watch the boys until Mrs. Henderson gets here and please help her maintain control.  I know the four of them together can be a handful.”

 

“We’ll be fine,” Nancy said, but her mind was still on health class and all those statistics.  Nancy had felt so grown up just moments ago, exerting control over the Nerd Squad, being in charge.  Now all she felt was very young and very scared and she didn’t want her Mother to leave.  She knew it was ridiculous, but she felt it all the same.

 

She moved toward her Mother then, as Mom hitched up her purse and turned to go.  “Mom, are **_you_** going to be okay?”

 

Mom stopped and gave Nancy a look of appreciation and love.  Mom sniffled once, and drew Nancy into a fierce hug.  It was weird hugging her with her big belly in the way, because Nancy wasn’t tall enough to avoid it and just ended up pressed against Mom’s baby bump.  Nancy held on as tightly as she could due to the awkward angle.

 

Mom looked down at Nancy fondly, “Of course I am, honey.  You know, I’ve done this a couple times before.”  Mom smoothed Nancy’s hair.  “With pretty great results.”

 

Nancy pulled away and said, “Well, **_one_** great result at least.  And then **_Mike_**.”

 

Mom smiled.  “You be **_nice_** to your brother and his friends.  And you help Claudia.  That’s an order.”

 

“I will Mom.”

 

“And I’m going to be fine.  And before you know it, before you can even **_miss_** me, I’ll be home with your baby sister, okay?”

 

“Yes, Mom.”

 

Mom touched Nancy’s face one last time and was gone.

 

The Tab forgotten on the counter, Nancy walked back to the basement door.  She stopped and tried to collect herself.  She knew she had to tell Mike, but she was afraid he’d have the same scared reaction she did, and freak out in front of his friends. 

 

It was rare now that he was older, but Nancy remembered Mike’s freak outs from the past.  Mostly because she was so embarrassed by them.  His voice would get high-pitched and tight and his fear or anxiety produced a physical reaction.  Mike didn’t seem to go for the common “fight or flight” options, he had a third preference: the anxiety bounce.  Useless, repetitive movement usually accompanied by whining or shrill protests.  She didn’t want that to ruin what she hoped had been a great ending to his campaign.  So she decided to try to pull him aside and speak to him privately.

 

She pulled open the door and started down the stairs, using the hand rail so she could go even faster.  The four boys were seated around the table again, munching on cookies.  Dustin was arguing with Mike about a word she didn’t know, but that sounded like “ex-pee”.

 

Dustin and Will had the best view of the stairs and they both noticed her.  Dustin stopped talking abruptly, and brought up his hand in a little wave, “Hey Nancy!”

 

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Mike and Lucas had turned to look at her too.  She tried a smile, but it felt weak.  She gestured for Mike, “Can I talk to you for a second?  Privately?”

 

“Sure.”  Mike got up and followed Nancy to the other side of the stairs where Dad had a little workbench he never seemed to use.

 

Nancy resolved to be patient and gentle with him.  When she got lost in her own head a little, Mom was there to calm her down, so if Mike needed that, it was up to Nancy to provide it.

 

“Mike, listen,” Nancy tried to sound excited and upbeat.  “Mom went into labor.  And she and Dad had to go to the hospital so she can have the baby.”

 

Mike frowned, as if not understanding.  “Wait, what?  Mom and Dad just left?”

 

Nancy just nodded.

 

“When will they be back?”

 

Nancy had no idea.  “I don’t know.  But don’t worry, I’m here for now, and Dustin’s Mom is on the way to stay with us until they come back.”

 

“What are you saying about my Mom over there?”  Dustin called.

 

Nancy glanced back to see all three of them watching and listening with no apparent shame, and no apparent understanding of what “privately” meant.

 

Mike’s expression was unreadable.  He seemed to be working through all the information.  He said slowly, “So Mom and Dad just left without saying good-bye?  And they’re going to be gone all night?  And Mrs. Henderson is coming over?”

 

Nancy nodded again and searched his face for the same worry and fear she felt upstairs.

 

Instead, Mike’s face contorted into a triumphant grin.  He raised his fist and pumped it in celebration, and hissed, “Yes!”

 

Nancy’s reassuring smile fell from her face as her mouth dropped open in annoyance.

 

Mike had already turned away from her, calling back to his friends, “Guys, did you hear that?”

 

The others all nodded.

 

“You know what this means?” asked Mike as he jogged back to them.  “Three words.”

 

Lucas shrugged.  “Prank call war?”

 

Mike shook his head, “No.  But I like the way you think.  My three words are: Son of Svengoolie.”

 

The other three laughed and cheered, getting up from the table and milling about.

 

Nancy knew what Son of Svengoolie was.  Her Dad had a huge antenna put in so he could get “all the games”.  The antenna was big enough to get some of the Chicago stations, with decent enough reception.  And one of the Chicago stations aired stupid cheesy horror and sci-fi movies on Saturday nights.

 

The host of the program was the Son of Svengoolie.  It was this guy dressed up like a cross between a D-list Alice Cooper and a bargain basement Dracula.  He kind of made fun of the movies and interrupted them sometimes to sing little songs and skits about how absurd they were.  The boys loved it, and normally they wouldn’t get to stay up late to watch it.  Unless Dad was in a very generous mood or they arranged it beforehand.  Nancy had watched it a couple times and she had to admit it was funny.  Sometimes just seeing the fashion and the cars in the old black and white movies was fun on its own.

 

“Do you know what movie it is?” asked Will.

 

Mike shook his head.  “No idea.  I figured we had no chance to watch it.  Dustin?”

 

“I know.  They previewed it last week.”  Dustin gestured dramatically, “ _The Beast with a Million Eyes_.”

 

Nancy was back to wanting to pound Mike into paste and to have his little friends disappear off the face of the Earth.  She could **_not_** believe she’d been worried about him and all he could think of was commandeering the abandoned TV for his stupid sleepover.  Nancy pursed her lips in an unintentional imitation of her Mother as she headed back toward the stairs.

 

“What is a beast with a million eyes anyway?” Lucas asked.  “Like a spider with bi-focals?  Sounds lame.”

 

“A spider with bifocals?” Mike scoffed.  “Even if you count each actual eye and the image of each in the bifocals that would only be, like, twenty-four eyes.”

 

“Okay, tri-focals then,” teased Lucas.

 

“Uhh, do you even **_know_** how math **_works_**?” asked Dustin, annoyed.  “No beast on earth is going to get you to one million eyes.  No matter what glasses they wear.”

 

“What about a fly?” asked Will.

 

“Interesting fact,” said Dustin.  “Flies really only have five eyes usually, it’s just that two of them are compound eyes.”

 

Nancy stood on the bottom step, listening.  She’d meant to yell at them, but couldn’t help listening to their argument.  She addressed Dustin directly.  “Wait.  Is that true?”

 

Dustin nodded.  “Just the two big eyes are compound, and those have thousands of little visual receptors, but they don’t have a bunch of eyes.  Not **_really_**.”

 

Nancy immediately decided that maybe Dustin could stay on the face of the Earth after all.  The rest were still toast.  She asked him sincerely, “How do you **_know_** all this?”

 

This elicited a groan from the other three boys, who all recited together: “He read it in a book!”

 

Dustin smirked at her.  “They’re not wrong.”

 

Nancy was impressed despite herself, but decided she had to take back control, like her mother wanted her to.  She clapped to get their attention and started to talk in a commanding voice, which was strangely reminiscent of Princess Enelya’s voice.

 

“Okay.  Settle down.  Here’s what’s going to happen.  You’re right.  With them gone, there is nothing stopping you from watching your show.  So what I want you guys to do is get changed for bed.  Then bring all your sleeping bags, pillows and blankets up to the living room, along with anything else you need, and you guys can sleep up there tonight.”

 

This caused further rejoicing.

 

“But keep in mind, when Mrs. Henderson gets here, what she says, goes, and if she says you can’t watch it, or you have to go to bed  . . . “

 

“She won’t,” said Will matter-of-factly.  “She usually watches with us.”

 

Nancy gave in fully then.  “Okay.  But I mean it, get ready for bed and bring everything up in an orderly fashion.”

 

She expected some backtalk or sass, at least from Mike, but they seemed too excited to be worried about her few conditions.  They started to comply immediately, which meant they moved to the couch and started stripping off their clothes.  As their shirts came off and they started to take off their pants, Nancy took that as her cue to leave and started up the stairs.

 

“So I think the Million-Eyed Beast must be an alien,” Mike said.

 

“Blech,” complained Lucas.  “I was hoping for a vampire flick.”

 

Dustin ran back and forth in front of Lucas wearing his pajama shirt like a cape.  “I vant to suck your blood, Lucas!”

 

Lucas shoved Dustin away unceremoniously and said, “I vant to kick your butt, Dustin.” 

 

Dustin just laughed and stumbled away.

 

“Hey.  Keep it to yourself, it’s my butt,” laughed Dustin.

 

Somehow this caused them all to laugh and break into song.  She stood at the top of the stairs and watched them in disbelief as they danced around half naked and sang, “I don’t care what you say anymore, this is my butt.  Go ahead with your own butt leave mine alone.”

 

They reminded Nancy more of a pack of wild animals than of actual human beings.  Nancy thought, not for the first time, how relieved she was to be getting a little sister this time instead of another gross brother.

 

She had just opened the door to the first floor, when she heard Lucas call after her.

 

“Hey!  Where are you going?  Aren’t you going to watch the million eyes movie with us?”

 

She looked down at Lucas in his sweats, and half-in, half-out of his T-shirt.  “Don’t you guys want it to be just The Party?” she asked, surprised.

 

Mike wandered over to the bottom of stairs, hitching up his jammie pants.  “You’re like an honorary member of The Party.”  He gave her a bright smile.  “You should call Barb and see if she’ll come over too.  We can all watch together.”

 

Dustin appeared then.  “My Mom won’t mind.  When she gets here I’m gonna have her make us popcorn.”  He hitched his thumb at Mike.  “This one says you guys got an air-popper.”

 

_Leave it to Dustin to help himself to our food_ , Nancy thought.  But she only said, “Really?”

 

Dustin smiled broadly at her.  “Yep.  Really.  Stay.  We’ll have fun.  And if you call Barb, tell her to bring her calligraphy stuff.  I’m still trying to get my Mom to buy me some of those pens and I could use a demonstration from the expert.”

 

Mike butt in.  “I bet we can get Byers here to make a blanket fort big enough for all of us.”

 

Will inserted himself between Dustin and Lucas and peered up at her.  “Sure.  The more the merrier.  Besides,” he pointed to Mike and Dustin, “these two motor-mouths are going to make so much noise you aren’t going to be able to sleep anyway.”

 

Nancy smiled.  That sounded true.  And maybe they were just including her since she had helped them with D&D.  Or maybe, despite their bravado and excitement about being home alone, they wanted someone older around.  Maybe the only reason Mike didn’t get scared Mom and Dad left was due to one simple reason.

 

**_I’m_ ** _still here.  And he trusts me just as much as them._

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Lucas, who puffed out his chest a bit, and said, “And that way we’ll be there for you and Barb in case the movie gets **_scary_**.”

 

Nancy barked a laugh.  “And who’s going to protect you four when **_you_ **get scared?”

 

“My Mom,” said Dustin matter-of-factly, as if it was obvious.

 

_I‘m really starting to like that kid._

 

Nancy nodded.  “Okay.  Sold.  I’m going to go get changed out of this dress and call Barb, and you guys get all the blankets and sleeping bags and pillows you can find and I’ll meet you in the living room.”

 

She left the basement to their cheers, and grabbed the phone, dialing Barb’s number.  She hoped her best friend would be up for the strangest impromptu slumber party of all time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who is still reading. Thanks for wading through it all.
> 
> If you’re thinking of leaving a comment or question, do it!
> 
> What Mike observed in this chapter about Dustin and raising his hand in class, could easily be said about me and people leaving feedback.
> 
> “He lives for that shit.”
> 
> Come back next week for the penultimate chapter, called “Castle Byers.” It’s the longest and most angst-filled chapter, and it deals with the aftermath of Lonnie Byers leaving town. If you are a Byers-Family fan, this one is for you.


	7. Castle Byers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Byers family is a mess after Lonnie leaves town.  
> Karen Wheeler visits Joyce and The Party visits Castle Byers for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the place I put chapter specific warnings that don't rise to the level of AO3's archive warnings:
> 
> Chapter Seven warnings:
> 
> Explicit language and crude humor throughout.
> 
> Period accurate language not acceptable in today's world (this can include: sexist, racist, ableist, and/or homophobic language).
> 
> Description of bad parenting and corporal punishment, which by today’s standards could be construed as emotional and physical abuse.
> 
> References to underage smoking.
> 
> References to underage drinking.
> 
> Mild description of period accurate pornographic newspapers and magazines and acknowledgment that teen boys may be interested in such materials.

Joyce Byers woke from a wonderful dream with a smile on her face.

 

In her dream, she had been a teenager again. She was outside the gym at school with Hopper, smoking and laughing. Somewhere back in the gym, “Help!” by the Beatles was playing. They were debating whether Winstons or Salems were smoother and whether John or Paul was cooler.  And Joyce was convinced that Salem was the brand to beat and that John would be a god of rock forever.

 

As the dream faded, the tune and lyrics to “Help!” kept turning over in her mind, like phantoms from the past.

 

She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t want to. The pounding in her head and her dry mouth told her waking up was going to hurt.

 

_Roll over_ , she thought to herself. _Try to fall back to sleep. Chase the sixties, even if you know it’s a lie._

 

So she rolled over intending to do just that, but as she suppressed a yawn, her hand stretched across the bed into cold empty space.

 

More thoughts intruded then, and she was well and fully awake, and she knew she wouldn’t get back to sleep. There was a voice in her head. And it had been there all week. A shadow-black mean voice that sounded like some combination of her mother and herself.

 

_It’s the eighties, not the sixties. And you’re **old**_ **,** _not a teenager_. _And last December John Lennon was murdered in the street._

 

Her hand pulled back from the wide open empty space in the big bed. She curled her hand into a fist and clutched it to her chest.

 

Then the horrible voice in her head continued, _And oh yeah, one other small thing._

 

_Your marriage is over._

 

Her head was pounding and she tried to remember why. Had she cried herself to sleep or had she drunk herself into oblivion? This week it seemed to alternate back and forth. She reached out for the half empty glass on the bedside table and took a tentative sip.

 

Water.

 

_So it’s crying that made me all puffy and dried up._

 

Then she noticed the ashtray, overflowing with butts smashed out in anger.

 

_And maybe too many cigarettes._

 

_Now that he’s gone, maybe I’ll be able to quit._

 

She had tried many times to quit smoking. Had even succeeded a couple of times.  For a bit. But being around Lonnie and having his cigarettes around, just made it easier to relapse. But maybe with no Lonnie around, and no cigarettes around, she would finally be able to make good on her promise to herself to quit once and for all.

 

The shadow voice intruded again. _Unless you relapse on **Lonnie**._

 

But that seemed pretty unlikely. She looked over at the clock and saw it was far later than she thought it was. She checked the alarm, since she was sure she had set it. She had to get the boys up.

 

_We’re having company today_ , she thought. _The first company since . . ._

 

She had to make sure the boys were up and get them something to eat and then make a pass at trying to clean up a bit before Karen or any of the kids got here.

 

She slipped out of bed and shrugged into a robe, and glanced around the bedroom. **_Her_** bedroom now. And hers alone.

 

It seemed so big. How could a room seem so big now? When it had seemed so small at first. And seemed just right for so, so long. How could all three things be true?

 

Joyce remembered the first time she saw this room, when she and Lonnie had been looking for a house.

 

_For a place of our own, to get out of that shitty little apartment on Third Avenue._

 

She had been hopeful and exuberant. A new bride and a newer mother. She had no damn clue how big a master bedroom should be. And even though this house was way too much house for a first home, with way too much land and too many bedrooms for a fledgling family of three, she had wondered aloud if the master bedroom was too **_small_**.

 

_Was that a crazy thing to think? Too small?_

 

Flash forward just a year and this bedroom was their sanctuary. Their cocoon. Where the entire family would gather on Sunday mornings. Sharing coffee and food and cigarettes and the newspaper. And Jonathan would toddle between them on the bed, giggling and drooling. And tiny Chester would try and try to jump up on the bed, but he was just too little to make it. But the puppy would yap and yap, frenzied and so upset at being left out, until Lonnie would scoop him up onto the bed too. They would all stay, cozy and jumbled together until real life intruded. On those days this room had seemed just right.

 

_Was **that** the crazy thing to think?_

 

And now, as she looked at all the places where Lonnie’s things used to be, it seemed noticeable. The amount of space. From the bare space on one side of the dresser, rings of dust where items had recently been. To the closet, standing half empty like the shy smile of a kid with a newly lost front tooth. For just one person, this room seemed so big.

 

_Can a room be like a womb? Can it stretch to fit the size of the occupants? Will it ever feel just right again?_

 

Joyce knew why she had been having so many thoughts and memories of the house this week. She would have to decide, sooner than she wanted to face, whether they were going to try and stay in this house or not. Whether she would take Jonathan from the only home he could remember, and Will from the only home he had ever known.

 

She opened her bedroom door and moved towards Will’s room. The door was wide open and there was no one there. She remembered again the day they walked through the house for the third time, trying to see themselves in this space. Lonnie had liked that it was off the beaten path, away from the prying eyes of neighbors. Maybe she could have seen that as a sign of some of his issues even then, but she hadn’t.

 

Joyce recalled thinking that they were so connected that day, that Lonnie was like a part of her. Like it was magic. In those heady, sleepless days after Jonathan had been born, they were so in sync sometimes that it seemed like they had a psychic connection. And on the day of their third walk through, when they were debating putting an offer on this house, they stood in the door to this bedroom, trying to talk privately, away from the annoying, hovering realtor.

 

Lonnie had looked around the house and then looked at Joyce, holding the sleeping Jonathan in her arms, and said quietly, “It’s perfect.”

 

And Joyce had felt that psychic connection and had known with absolute certainty that Lonnie didn’t just mean the house. He meant the house **_and_** their marriage **_and_** their baby. He meant **_all_** of it. So Joyce had merely nodded, giddy and so in love, with the house, with Lonnie, with her new son. With life. They put in an offer that very same day. And they couldn’t afford it. It was outside their price range. But they were so high on the sweet possibilities of life that they didn’t really care.

 

It was only later, once they moved in, and they were cleaning all the rooms that she had asked the question. There were so many rooms, and she had been so tired, with head aching from the chemical smell of the harsh cleanser. She had asked, half joking and half not, “Why do we need all these bedrooms anyway?”

 

And Lonnie had just smiled, and kept scrubbing at the doorjamb, and said cryptically, “You never know. Maybe someday. . . “

 

And someday had come so soon, just a couple years later and Will had arrived.

 

But Will wasn’t in his room. He had been avoiding her since she told them. Avoiding everyone. Avoiding life. But that would end today. His friends were coming. And she would have to talk to the boys today. Really talk. About what they were going to do now. And where they were going to go. And if they could stay in this house.

 

She moved towards Jonathan’s room. There was a good chance Will was in there. He often was.

 

She remembered when Will was small and he had been so afraid of thunder and lightning. The “boom-booms” as he called them back then. She remembered waking up after a bad storm and not finding Will in his big-boy bed. She had panicked at first. But she calmed herself and found him the first place she looked.

 

Jonathan’s bed.

 

Will had fled his room when the “boom-booms” came and crawled into bed with Jonathan. And there she found them, curled together, dead to the world, Will’s thumb secure in his mouth. The storm had passed long ago, and light streamed into the room, but there they were.

 

_Brothers._

 

No one was in Jonathan’s room either. It was the same bed, and she could still see the after image of her memory of her sons bundled in blankets together. All she saw now was the barely controlled mess of a surly teen boy. She hated the mess and nagged Jonathan about it sometimes, but he always said he had a system and that he knew where everything was. And Jonathan definitely wasn’t like other kids she could name who would stomp up to their parent and demand “I can’t find my” whatever.

 

_As if being a parent made you a bloodhound for everything your kid ever touched or loved._

 

Jonathan wasn’t like that. He never came to her or Lonnie about losing anything. He just found it himself or did without. So maybe he did have a system. Maybe he knew where everything was. At least the important things.

 

_Hopefully he’ll know where his **brother** is,_ Joyce thought idly as she turned out of his bedroom and moved into the hall.

 

As she walked towards the living room, she was struck again by horrible thoughts. She had been having these all week. Ever since Lonnie left. Questions and observations from the shadow voice. They all made Joyce second guess herself. Her past. Her assumptions about her own life. And she couldn’t stop the voice and these thoughts from coming, she knew that by now. And she didn’t know what was true, what she used to think or what she thought now. And she was afraid to ask the boys. She was not sure she wanted to know what they would say. But the thoughts that flew unbidden into her head as she walked the hall kept ringing in her mind.

 

_Did Will go to Jonathan when he was scared just because he loved Jonathan, or did he avoid your bedroom because you scared him more than thunder? And did Jonathan just grow into this independent boy who didn’t overly rely on his parents for small things, or did you train him to be like that by not being there when he needed you?_

 

She turned the corner of the hallway into the living room, and put her dark thoughts out of her mind. She tried to call up images of happier times. Of Chester and Jonathan running up and down the hall with such energy that they would both skid around the corner, crashing into in each other and both yelping in surprise or pain in almost the same high pitched squeal.

 

Joyce walked into the living room and stared at the couch. That was the last place she and Lonnie had sat together that night. And it was where she told the boys. But she didn’t want to think about those nights again yet. She wanted to stay in her happy memories for just a little bit longer. So she pulled another favorite memory to her mind.

 

Will and Mike. In their swimsuits and still wet from that stupid little wading pool she put up in the back yard. They must have been about six or so. She had dragged them inside when she was tired of the heat and the sun. They were tired too. Maybe overtired. But they wouldn’t nap and wouldn’t even change out of their swimsuits. They just begged for her to put a record on. Lonnie wasn’t home, so she put on the Monkees and hoped that would occupy them while she sat down with some iced tea in the cool house to rest.

 

She could still see them, standing upright on the couch, bouncing up and down while bellowing “Cheer up sleepy Jean!” at the top of their lungs. And they were so out of key and so off rhythm. And they were wet and jumping on the couch, and she knew Lonnie would be so pissed if he would have seen that. But all Joyce could do was laugh and clap and egg them on.

 

And Will and Mike had gotten obsessed with the lyrics of that song for a time. She would come home from work and just be craving a quiet moment at the kitchen table to think and catch her breath and have a nice cup of coffee. And she would be lost in her own thoughts, and sometimes Mike was just somehow **_there_** in their house. And he would walk up to her and put a hand on her shoulder and say so solemnly “Cheer up sleepy Jean,” like he was the world’s tiniest funeral director, trying to help someone through a difficult time.

 

And then he and Will would cackle with laughter.

 

Joyce smiled as she sat in the chair. She didn’t want to sit on the couch. She just wanted to look at it. The image of Will bouncing up and down on the couch and singing “Now you know how happy I can be” is what she wanted to see. She could watch that forever.

 

But the happy memory faded and all she saw was her and Lonnie last Monday night, sitting on that couch, in deadly silence. They were both smoking and he was nursing a double shot of rum. And Joyce had been lost in her thoughts, just like she was now.

 

Her thoughts raced and raced, but it was around a closed track, like the races Lonnie watched sometimes. The cars drove and drove so fast, but they never went anywhere. They were only racing to get back to where they started from.

 

There were so many things she could have said that night. Most of them she had said before. And all of them were true from her perspective. She could have said something like, “You see more of your friends than you do of the boys. And when you **_are_** around, you just criticize them, or worse, **_scare_** them.”

 

But she knew he wouldn’t even respond. So she hadn’t said that. They were beyond everything by then.

 

They had pretended everything was fine for so long. But they were long beyond pretending.

 

Then they had screamed at each other, trying so desperately to be heard. To be understood. But even those sparks were gone now. Used up along the way. Like her lighter when it ran out of fluid. You could flick and roll the lighter until the pad of your thumb was numb, but no more sparks came.

 

When she said things to him recently, it was more a simple order, like “leave him alone.” And when she did that Lonnie would look at her, and look at the boys. But it was like he wasn’t seeing them any longer. His family. He looked at Joyce like she wasn’t even there. He looked right **_through_** her. He looked right through all of them.

 

And maybe that was better. If they weren’t there, then they couldn’t be the focus of his anger. And the outbursts had slowed over the past few months. Lonnie’s anger was still there. He still seemed to hate the world most days. He still said things like “I don’t care what people say,” while stewing in bitterness, but there hadn’t been any flare-ups in a while.

 

And that night, when she sat with him, she had finally realized some terrible truths about the man she married. She didn’t think he would shout at any of them again, or raise his hand to them again. She didn’t think he **_cared_** enough about any of them to ever do that again.

 

So as he sipped his drink and looked right through her, Joyce had decided that Lonnie was untouchable now. Unreachable. She had tried. To reason with him. To charm him. To make him remember what he once loved about her.

 

And in the end she had been reduced to simply trying to calm him. To control him. To manage him.

 

And that was **_exhausting_**. Trying to corral the boys and the dog and both their jobs would have been hard enough with a full time partner. But when you take away the partner and add a fully grown, temperamental man to try to manage, well there was only so much one person could do.

 

So that night she had just stared at him. And kept staring at him until he noticed. Until he looked at her. Really looked **_at_** her again.

 

And she had felt that same connection again that she hadn’t felt in so long. The strange psychic rapport she had felt so rarely since that day they put an offer on the house. And that day when Lonnie had said “It’s perfect” the connection had felt exhilarating. Last Monday all she felt was terrified, but she took advantage of the connection while it was there.

 

She simply said, “Lonnie, it’s over.”

 

And she had been surprised to find that there was no anger in her voice.

 

And Lonnie hadn’t responded like she thought he would. Or like she hoped.

 

Joyce could admit she had fantasized that Lonnie would apologize and beg her to stay and agree to change.

 

But that didn’t happen.

 

But her expectation of Lonnie yelling at her and throwing things and calling her crazy and blaming her?

 

That didn’t happen either.

 

Lonnie just took a long drag on his smoke, rubbed his hand across his stubble and said, “I’ll go and pack.”

 

At least there had been no fight about her getting to stay in the house. She had been afraid of that too. Of Lonnie expecting Joyce to take the kids and the dog and get out. “A Man’s home is his castle,” Lonnie used to say, so in some ways Joyce had feared the worst. But maybe Lonnie took all his own “be a man” nonsense fully to heart. Maybe.

 

And then the hateful voice in her head thought, _Or maybe he already had somewhere **else** he wanted to be._

 

It had taken him a remarkably short time to pack things up. No hug. No kiss goodbye. He didn’t even ask to look in on the sleeping boys. He just said, “I’ll come over after work tomorrow and we can tell the boys.”

 

And despite everything, Joyce had taken this for a good sign. A **_great_** sign. They could present a united front and show the boys that even if they wouldn’t still be together as husband and wife, they would still be together as their parents.

 

And it had meant so much that he had gone without a harsh word and with the suggestion that they tell the boys together. It had meant so much that Joyce didn’t even cry that night alone in the bed. Not even once she realized with a shock that it wasn’t a temporary absence this time, and it dawned on her that she would likely be alone in that bed for a long time to come. She had been too focused on preparing mentally for what was going to be a hard conversation with Donald Melvald in the morning and for what was going to be an even harder conversation with the boys in the evening. She had thought that it was possible that she and Lonnie could get through this one last thing. Together.

 

So when Lonnie called her at work the next day to say that he couldn’t make it and that she would have to tell the boys herself, it was a terrible omen in Joyce’s mind. This was a terrible precedent to set where all the bad news and all the pain were going to be her responsibility from now on. Hers and hers alone.

 

After she hung up the phone with Lonnie, so angry and scared--but not really that surprised--she glanced over at the register and saw the picture Will had drawn around his eighth birthday. That was the year she had gotten him the big box of crayons, and Will memorized every color in the box. She looked at that old drawing, of Will’s rainbow spaceship, where he had tried to use all the colors. Every single one. The rainbow spaceship was sort of dull and faded now, hanging in Melvald’s all this time. Looking at that drawing, and finally feeling, **_really feeling_** the loss of her marriage, Joyce had burst into tears. That’s how Donald Melvald found her, crying at the register, and the conversation she had been dreading having with her boss, did not go the way she expected. In a lot of ways it had gone better than she expected. Donald had surprised her.

 

And that had renewed her hope for the rest of that day. After that, Joyce felt again that, even though Lonnie wouldn’t be there to tell the boys with her, maybe **_that_** conversation would go better than she expected too.

 

But it had not. She had sat them down on Tuesday night on the same couch and told them that their Dad had moved out. And she had known in her heart that Jonathan wouldn’t cry at the news. Joyce couldn’t pinpoint exactly why she was so sure about this. Either because Jonathan was older, or because his teen boy status prevented it, or simply because he was not actually going to be sad about it. And Jonathan hadn’t cried, so she was right about that.

 

But she had expected tears from Will. In Joyce’s mind, Will was younger and more sensitive. Joyce fully expected Will to cry and to ask a ton of questions, and in the end to run into her arms, just like he did when he was young.

 

But Will had not cried. And he had not asked questions she didn’t have answers for like - “where is Dad staying?” or ”are you getting a divorce?”

 

Instead, Will had looked from Jonathan to Joyce, and asked in a small voice, “And who decided **_that_**?”

 

And Joyce hadn’t really considered lying. Maybe she should have. Maybe the one who stays gets to write the history book. Maybe she could have blamed Lonnie and said that he just left. But she hadn’t done that. She had tried to present the united front that she thought was best.

 

_Even if Lonnie was too chickenshit to show up to present it with me._

 

She had said, “Your Dad and I discussed it, and we agreed that he would move out.”

 

Will’s eyes had narrowed and he looked down, with his lips pressed into a thin line. And Joyce had thought that this was when his lip would start to tremble and the tears wouldn’t be far behind and she would open her arms and he would fit there, so perfectly.

 

Joyce realized now, in retrospect, that she had **_wanted_** that to happen. That a hug from her youngest would have been such a comfort on that horrible day.

 

But Will simply said, “Okay,” and got up off the couch and headed towards his room. He didn’t run, he wasn’t leaving to hide tears, he just **_left_**.

 

She considered going after him, but Jonathan was still there and had looked so sad. Much sadder than she thought was possible for someone who butted heads so much with Lonnie. So she went over to sit next to him on the couch and asked, “Are you okay?”

 

Jonathan had mumbled, “I’m okay.” Then he had paused for a long time before saying, “I knew that . . . I mean, it’s not like it’s a **_surprise_** or something. . . . “

 

Then Will had returned to them, holding his largest sketchbook in his hands, and Joyce thought that he had returned for her. To ask the questions she expected or to seek the comfort she wanted to provide.

 

But Will didn't even look at her. He only looked at Jonathan. Like Jonathan was his comfort in that moment. Not her.

 

And looking back on it, Joyce still didn’t know how to feel about that. Part of her was relieved that Will had Jonathan in a moment when he needed someone, but part of her wanted both of them to need **_her_**.

 

Ever since that night, Joyce had tried to explain this away in her mind. Initially she explained it away by thinking it was the same old “shoot the messenger” problem. She had been the bearer of the bad news, so she could not be the one to soothe them. But as more time had passed and Will kept to himself and avoided the world, she had started to wonder if it was deeper than just feeling hurt. She started to think that Will was actively **_mad_** at her. And that was something she had almost no experience with.

 

That Tuesday, Will had asked Jonathan, “Can you help me?”

 

“With what?”

 

Will had simply opened his notebook to a page filled up with the sketch of a ramshackle wooden structure.

 

“I want to build Castle Byers,” Will had said firmly.

 

That night, when Will had said the phrase “Castle Byers” she had flashed back to the day they had moved into this house. They had gotten there before the moving van carrying all their stuff and went up to unlock the door. And Joyce had been carrying baby Jonathan and Lonnie had unlocked the door, but stopped her before she crossed inside. Then he had picked **_her_** up, still holding Jonathan, and carried them both inside saying, “Welcome to Castle Byers.”

 

**_This_** _**house** is Castle Byers, **not** some creepy hobo’s shack,_ she had thought.

 

Will had continued, “There’s wood we can use in the shed. And some pallets to put down for the floor. The rest of the sticks we can just get in the woods.”

 

Then Will let out a shuddery breath, “Can you help me Jonathan? Please?”

 

And Joyce had interrupted then, trying to play catch up and get some explanation from them about what they were talking about, exactly. And Jonathan had pointed to the drawing, -- the “plans” as he called them – and provided the broad strokes to Joyce about Will’s plans for his “Castle”.

 

Jonathan had turned back to Will and said, “I don’t think we can.”

 

Despite his name, Will was normally not willful. But that night he had been. He had quickly pushed back and said, “Why not? The only reason we didn’t do it before now was because of **_him_** , right?”

 

Jonathan had nodded slowly, “That’s true.”

 

Will just glared at both of them. “And he’s **_gone_** , right?”

 

Jonathan had just nodded.

 

Will looked away from her then, and wouldn’t look at her as he asked, “So can we, Mom?”

 

And Joyce remembered her thoughts in that moment so vividly. She wanted to say “no”. And she wanted to insist that they both stay **_here_** and talk about this and really clear the air. And she didn’t want them out in the woods doing something dangerous on a school night. And she didn’t even know if this was legal. And she wasn’t sure whose property they were even talking about. And it looked like it was going to rain.

 

Joyce had thought all those things in the time the question from Will hung in the air. And if he had just looked at her, she thought she would have been able to say no. But he wouldn't meet her eye, and it killed her.

 

In the end she simply could not say “no”. She was looking down at two broken boys who wouldn’t let themselves feel pain or cry, and she had nothing to give them, no words to reassure them. She only had permission to withhold, and in that moment, she didn’t want to withhold it. There was a small petty part of her that wanted to prove that life with Mom would be better than life with Dad, more fun and fewer arbitrary rules.

 

So she had let them go.

 

And she had time to herself to cry and to clean while they were gone. And she had done a bit of both, but mostly she worried. And it was only when it was long past dark and the rain was pouring down that she grabbed her raincoat and went out to find them.

 

She found them by the lanterns they had lit. With the core structure of the little hut already built. She had tried to be enthusiastic that they could finish it later in the week but they had to come in now. Out of the rain. And into bed.

 

But Will had shouted at her, “I’m not going. We **_have_** to finish first. We **_have_** to.”

 

The rain streamed down his face and she knew then that he was glad it was raining. And maybe Jonathan was too. That the rain would mask their tears. So she had given in and stayed back. She sensed they wanted her to; it was clear they didn’t want her help. It was something they were doing together as brothers and no grown-up input was needed. So Joyce stayed as long as she could, and watched them get soaked to the bone. But she could not bear to watch for long. Will was trying to use the hammer and he missed again and again, maybe because of the darkness or maybe because of the rain, but mainly because he was sobbing. But he kept swinging, until eventually Joyce realized he wasn’t even trying to hit the nail anymore. He was just striking the wood with the hammer, crying, mindlessly pounding out his rage.

 

Joyce couldn’t watch anymore. She couldn’t yell at them, and it was clear they didn’t want any comfort she could provide. Jonathan met her eyes then and mouthed to her, “We’ll be okay.”

 

And she believed him. She had to. Because he didn’t mean that night. He meant more in general. And he meant sometime in the hypothetical future. And Joyce needed to believe that was true. For them. **_And_ **for herself.

 

Joyce left then and when they eventually came home, it was far too late. They were both soaked and bedraggled but they allowed her to dry them off and put them to bed. And even though it hadn’t been that cold out, they were so tired and sick the next day, both of them, she let them stay home from school. Jonathan had missed Wednesday and Thursday and went back to school yesterday. But Will said he still wasn’t feeling well and had not been to school since the Tuesday afternoon she told them.

 

It wasn’t that big a deal, Joyce knew. It was nearing the end of the school year and nothing much was going on. And the boys had been legitimately sick, at least at first. And by yesterday, when Jonathan had gone back, but Will stayed home, the news had traveled around Hawkins enough for the school secretary at Will’s school to have a sympathetic tone in her voice. Word had spread that Lonnie had left town. Left Joyce. Left his family.

 

And it wasn’t just Donald Melvald who was surprisingly and vocally on her side. Joyce got the impression from almost everyone she talked to, that aside from the people in her house, no one was sad to see Lonnie go. Joyce got a remarkably consistent message from everyone – from Jonathan’s teachers at the middle school; to the customers at the General Store; to Smitty at the gas station--who would still wander out to fill up your tank for you, if you were a woman. They all had the same reaction, stated differently, and often more tactfully than old Smitty. Smitty was not one to mince words, and had put it plainly, “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

 

The biggest surprise was when she tried to reach Lonnie at work. She had talked to Lonnie’s boss, a stern man, who Lonnie hated. The man’s sympathy seemed genuine, but was directed only at Joyce and the boys. He told Joyce he had fired Lonnie the week before, and Lonnie had already picked up his final check. They hadn’t seen him since. It had been news to Joyce, but she had tried to cover her ignorance the best she could, and apologized for bothering him. That meant that even before he left home, Lonnie had lost his job, and he had never told her.

 

Joyce wasn’t surprised he had been fired, since his temper got him in trouble at work all the time. But she **_had_** been surprised he hadn’t blown up about it and blamed her.

 

Joyce thought uncomfortably of something that her Grandma always used to say, “No one belongs where they’re not wanted.” Maybe with his tendencies towards burning bridges and being openly hostile to the people of Hawkins, Lonnie had realized that he was not wanted here.

 

_Or maybe_ , the hateful voice in her head thought, _Maybe he had known **that** for a long time. It was part of his complaints. The horrible people of Hawkins and how they were giving him a raw deal. Maybe he knew he wasn’t wanted by the town he had grown to hate. Maybe he only stayed because he was still wanted **here**. **At home**. Maybe it was just this week when he was finally convinced that he wasn’t wanted here either._

 

Joyce just felt bad then. Guilty. She tore her gaze away from the couch, and tore her mind away from the past and from speculation about how Lonnie was feeling. She had given him every opportunity to express his feelings. But he never could. At least not in a constructive way. She had given him every chance. Too many chances. It did no good to second guess herself now. And his silence since his call to Melvald’s on Tuesday spoke volumes.

 

Joyce rose then, and as she moved toward the kitchen she swore she could smell coffee. Her heart soared for just a moment and relief washed over her.

 

_It made sense_ , she thought, _Maybe he was just so busy trying to secure a place to stay and find a new job that he couldn’t make it back here until the weekend._

 

Joyce breathed a sigh of relief. She was so glad to think Lonnie had come back to check in with her and to see the boys, but inwardly she dreaded the conversations to come. She would have to tell him that the boys built that ramshackle structure in the woods, and that they **_both_** got sick, and that she had let them miss a bunch of school, and that Karen Wheeler and all of Will’s friends were coming over today.

 

She dreaded those conversations, but having **_some_** sort of conversation would be good, since she hadn’t heard a word from Lonnie all week. They still had some things to work out. Money things. Divorce things. Custody things.

 

As she rounded the corner and saw the coffee maker burbling away, Joyce was **_sure_** the lone figure sitting at the small kitchen table, dark messy hair, paper open on the table in front of him and a coffee mug in his hand, was Lonnie.

 

“Lonnie?”

 

Then he turned, “No Mom, it’s just me.”

 

It was Jonathan. Of **_course_** it was. She saw that now, but just for a moment, her memory-saturated, dream-filled mind made her see Lonnie. Before she saw the height. And the lack of stubble. And the milky brown color of the coffee, filled with cream and sugar, not black, like Lonnie took it. And the colored pencil he was holding while looking through the paper at the want ads. It was the Sunday paper he would roll up tonight and deliver around town tomorrow morning. It was a child’s colored pencil. **_He_** was a child. And the messy circles he was making in the want ads with his colored pencil, bright green against the newsprint, made Joyce want to cry.

 

Joyce blinked slowly, trying to avoid tears as she put her hand gently on Jonathan’s head and stroked down the back of his hair, and along his neck, to rest on his shoulder. This time last week, he might have pulled away or shrugged her off, but not today.

 

She said, “Sorry honey, I must have overslept. I was sure I set my alarm.”

 

Jonathan smiled up at her. “You did. We just wanted to let you get some sleep, so I turned it off.”

 

Joyce stretched and yawned. “Well you would think the extra sleep would leave me feeling refreshed, but I don’t know. . . I feel like I’m more groggy and out of it now than I would have been if I had just gotten up like I planned.”

 

Jonathan pushed out his chair and got up, “I can tell, you must still be in a dream world if you thought I was Dad.”

 

Jonathan walked over to the coffee pot, grabbed Joyce’s mug and filled it. He came back to the table and handed it to her. “This should wake you up.”

 

Joyce looked at the mug dubiously, afraid at first to taste what he had made. She sat down at the little kitchen table and asked, “Since when do you drink coffee?”

 

“For a while now.” He smiled at her and took a sip from his mug.

 

She looked at him expectantly, knowing this would prompt him to continue.

 

“Well, y’know Lori’s Diner?”

 

Joyce nodded. This was the little café they had downtown that opened early for breakfast and stayed open until early evening. It wasn’t that far from Melvald's.

 

“Well,” continued Jonathan, “normally I leave Lori’s Diner for the last stop on my route. Sometimes I buy something to eat, like a treat. Or sometimes if Sylvia is working she gives me a soda or some juice or, y’know, a coffee.”

 

Joyce nodded, “They **_do_** have good coffee there. But when did you start making it?”

 

“I normally only make it Sunday mornings when I have to get up so early to make my route. I thought you and Dad had noticed a long time ago. You guys have definitely drank out of the pot sometimes by the time I get home.”

 

Jonathan said this innocently enough. He wasn’t accusing, and it wasn’t like him to try to make his point passive-aggressively, but Joyce still felt guilty for never noticing this fact. Or, at least, not really registering that this must have been going on for some time.

 

She took a sip of the coffee. It was fine. As good as their little ten-cup percolator and store brand coffee could produce, anyway.

 

She said, “It’s good. Thank you.”

 

Then her Mom instinct reared its ugly head, and she found herself saying nonsense from her own childhood. “You know, you shouldn’t really be drinking coffee at your age. It’ll stunt your growth.”

 

Jonathan rolled his eyes and fiddled with the colored pencil. “That’s not true, Mom. You guys say that about everything. Coffee. Cigarettes. Beer. The only thing that is **_actually_** going to ‘stunt my growth’ is my gene pool and the fact that you and Dad are kinda short.”

 

Joyce half wanted to yell at him and half wanted to laugh. She decided to skip both and took another sip of the coffee instead.

 

Jonathan had been a huge help this week, and there was no point in yelling at him about something as trivial as drinking coffee.

 

Still, the Mom instinct could not be silenced completely. She said, “Well I hope you guys had some real breakfast, and not just coffee. Where **_is_** Will by the way?”

 

“He’s taking some more stuff out to Castle Byers to decorate it. And later we’re going to clean up the shed a bit and hopefully find some more paint and other stuff for it.”

 

“And he’ll be okay by himself?”

 

Jonathan nodded, “He’s fine. He has Chester with him. And it’s not **_that_** far. We would hear him if he started yelling. And we ate.” Jonathan looked at her and said, with a little pride shining through, “I made breakfast for us.”

 

“You did? What?”

 

Jonathan shrugged, “Nothing that great, just peanut butter on toast.”

 

Joyce raised her eyebrows over her mug.

 

“Hey, it’s better than the sugary cereal we eat most Saturdays,” he said defensively. “But I can do better. I mean I’ve watched you and Dad make breakfast for years. It doesn’t seem that hard. Just one fry pan for the meat and eggs and some toast and milk and juice and you have all the food groups. You’re off tomorrow morning too, right? You can walk me through it, so I can start making real breakfast.”

 

Jonathan had been like this all week. Where Will had been distant and unreachable, Jonathan had gone out of his way to be present and helpful. Almost cheerful to do chores or help around the house. She had watched him all week taking mental inventory of all the things Lonnie used to do around the house. And slowly but surely he was taking ownership of some of those duties.

 

Joyce searched her memory to try and decide if this was just a reflection of how Jonathan always had been or if it was some toxic “man of the house” nonsense he had picked up from Lonnie.

 

Joyce wanted to believe that Jonathan’s nature was to be devoted to his family and that he always had a need to be needed.

 

_He’s a lot like me in that way_ , she thought.

 

Joyce knew that soon she would have to decide how much of Jonathan picking up the slack was necessary for the survival of their family and how much of it was too great a burden to put on a teenage boy. She looked down at the want ads Jonathan was poring over, and noticed he had circled so many on the page that the green circles overlapped.

 

_I’ll have to decide very soon how much I’m going to let him take on. Before he starts applying for jobs._

 

But teaching him to cook was not like him getting a job. Joyce remembered learning to cook from her own Mom, and it was something she thought it would be fun to pass down to her sons.

 

But then the hateful voice in her head intruded, _It **could** be fun if it was optional, but when it’s a **necessity** , well . . . ._

 

Joyce pushed the intrusive thoughts away and said aloud, “Sure, I’ll show you. It’ll be fun.” She pointed down to the paper. “What’s all this about?”

 

“Just looking at jobs. Some places are already looking for the summer. If I get a jump on it now, before school is out, I’ll have a better chance.” He looked down then. “Some of them won’t want me. They’ll say I’m too young. But if you’re willing to sign something saying it’s okay,” he looked up at her hopefully, “I’ll have a better chance for something good.”

 

“We can talk about that,” Joyce agreed. Jonathan had been making noises for months now about dumping the paper route and getting a “real” summer job. Since he was still underage he would have to get parental permission on some forms or else take a job that would pay him under the table and off the books. She and Lonnie had already decided they would sign the forms if he really wanted to get a summer job. They had both worked when they were young, and Lonnie always said “a little hard work never hurt anyone.”

 

“And this would just be for the summer?”

 

Jonathan shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, if you’re willing to sign the papers, I could probably get a better job, one that could still be a part-time thing during the school year.”

 

Joyce wasn’t so sure about that idea. Jonathan wasn’t always the most dedicated student, and she wasn’t sure if he could handle school plus an after school job at such a young age. Although he already proved he could be consistent with the paper route, and his grades had stayed pretty much the same.

 

“Like what type of thing were you thinking?”

 

Jonathan brightened, a little excited now. “Well, I mean, Sylvia at the diner says they may be looking for a bus boy, and Bradley’s Big Buy is always looking for guys to do stocking and bagging.” He gave her a pointed look. “But they wouldn’t hire me without the paperwork. Also they would want to make sure I’m strong enough.” He nodded as if he was impressed with himself. “But I’m pretty strong.”

 

This was true. Joyce had watched him do all the heavy lifting when helping Will build the stupid shack, and he hefted the huge double bag of papers pretty effortlessly now.

“You are strong, sweetie. I know you are. We just need to talk about this. About a lot of things. We’re going to have to sit down today. The three of us. We have to talk about what we’re going to do. As a family. And we can talk about the money situation then, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Jonathan said agreeably. “Like when?”

 

Joyce sighed, “Well I had hoped to talk with you guys this morning and get this all hashed out before the guests get here, but then someone turned off my alarm. . . . ” She trailed off, giving him a teasing look.

 

Jonathan looked sheepish then. “Sorry, I just wanted to let you sleep.” He looked away from her, struggling to fold up the newspaper neatly. “I heard you crying last night. It was pretty late.” He paused for a beat, tucking the folded up newspaper under his arm. When he looked at her again, she thought he looked too weary to be a teenager. For just a second the pasted-on smile he had used this whole week disappeared and he said, “It’s been a long week.”

 

**_That_** , Joyce thought immediately, **_that_** _is what I don’t want for him. That tired look of someone who has worked too hard, for too long, for too little._

 

She knew it was how Lonnie felt. He complained about it enough. And if she was being honest, Joyce often felt that way too. And maybe that was why she still found herself resisting the idea of Jonathan getting a job. Even a summer job.

 

_He has his whole life to feel that way. Waking up already feeling run down. He needs to still be a kid for a little while longer_.

 

She reached out to touch him then, prepared for the surly teen boy dodge he had starting trying out last year and had perfected since. When the dodge didn’t come and the protesting “Mo-om!” whine didn’t sound, she was relieved. She cupped the side of his face with her palm and said softly, “I’m sorry if I kept you up. It’s been a long week for you too. Are **_you_** okay? I feel like maybe I haven’t asked you that enough.”

 

Jonathan blushed and looked embarrassed, but didn’t pull away. He said, “You’ve asked us that like every day. We’re okay, Mom.”

 

“Are you really? Both of you? Will hasn’t really been answering me.”

 

Jonathan sighed and pulled away from her then, to stand. “He’s not mad at you, Mom. I mean, not **_just_** you, at least.” Jonathan shrugged as if he was at a loss to explain his brother. “It’s like he’s mad at the whole world.”

 

“I know. But he’s going to have to stop avoiding us all today. I mean, he knows his friends are coming, doesn’t he?”

 

“He knows, Mom. That’s why I’m helping him get Castle Byers ready. He wants to show them what we built.”

 

“It was a good idea you had to have them all come this weekend, Jonathan. Thank you again for talking to them.”

 

“No problem,” he laughed softly. “I just wanted them all to stop calling. Once Will turned off the comms and we started missing school all three of them were calling constantly to check on him and he would never get on the phone with them. Finally I just suggested that they give us some time and all come by today.”

 

“That was smart. I think Will would really regret it if he ignored his friends for too long.”

 

“Well, he won’t have the chance. They sounded excited on the phone. They’re bringing some stuff for Castle Byers and they said they have all his homework assignments covered. They may be the Supreme Dorks of the Universe, but they really like that little guy for **_some_** reason. If he tries to ignore them, they’re just going to break down the door.”

 

“I thought you guys just put a sheet up for the door?”

 

Jonathan chuckled as he tucked the folded paper on the kitchen counter, “I actually meant the house door, but you’re right too, they’re not going to stand for this password nonsense if Will tries to keep them out of Castle Byers.”

 

“Wait, there’s a password now?”

 

“I think there’s going to be. Will said he needs his ‘privacy’.”

 

Joyce heard Chester barking nearby. She and Jonathan both looked back towards the little utility porch that let out into the back yard.

 

Jonathan said, “Sounds like Will is back.” Jonathan made a show of rolling up his sleeves. “Time to go tackle the shed.”

 

He moved towards the back of the house, before turning and asking nonchalantly, “Are all of the Wheelers coming today?”

 

She didn’t respond right away, so he prompted her. “Like is Nancy coming?”

 

“I don’t think so. I figure it will just be Karen and Mike. And maybe the baby.”

 

Jonathan shrugged, signaling he didn’t care one way or the other.

 

Joyce thought of all the dangerous crap that might be in that shed. “You guys be careful out there. Take care of your brother.”

 

Jonathan gave her a patient look then. “I always do. But he takes care of me too, you know.”

 

“He does?”

 

Jonathan gave her what she guessed was supposed to be a reassuring look.

 

“We’re not babies Mom. We’re old enough by now to take care of each other.” He nodded. “And we do. So you don’t need to worry about us so much.”

 

_Easier said than done_ , Joyce thought.

 

\---

 

Jonathan Byers almost choked to death when Will asked, “What’s a hooker?”

 

They had been cleaning the shed all morning, and had made quick work of it. Will had not really been that talkative this past week, but Jonathan didn’t mind. Will was throwing himself into the work and they worked together in companionable silence quite well. Just like they did when they built Castle Byers.

 

They had come up with several piles, which they stacked outside the shed. The shed was looking a lot less cluttered now, and a lot more like an actual shed you could enter and exit, and a lot less like someone built walls around a random junk pile to hide it.

 

Pile One was all the things that Will wanted to take to Castle Byers with him. Not a lot of stuff, but enough that it would take several trips. A box of matches; a can of sterno; a little wooden bench he said he wanted to use as a “table”; an old milk crate he could turn on its side to hold things and put things on; and a few mason jars and old metal tins and pails. From Dad’s workbench, Will had set aside some paintbrushes, a box of nails, a small tin of tacks, and two hammers, so he could add the final sticks and logs, inside and out, and so he could “hang his artwork.” And the most important find of all was a small can of yellow paint with just enough paint still in it so it still sloshed around in liquid form, and wasn’t all dried out and rubbery. They had already made one sign for the structure with red paint which said, “Home of Will the Wise” but they had run out of paint. Will said he might want to make another sign, so when they found the yellow paint, Will had called out “Dibs!” so eagerly, that Jonathan had smiled.

 

Pile Two was a huge collection of junk and garbage that they were going to throw out. Jonathan thought some of it could just go on the burn pile, but there was so much of it, that they would have to get Mom to drive the rest of it to the dump.

 

Pile Three was much smaller. It was items that they thought were either good enough to bring back in the house, or stuff they thought they could sell. Every time Will thought something was worth putting into Pile Three he had asked Jonathan, “Garage Sale Pile?” And every time Jonathan thought, _Or maybe Moving Sale_.

 

But he didn’t say that out loud. Jonathan knew that they might have to move. They didn’t ever seem to have enough money at the best of times, and Jonathan had overheard his Mom on the phone with Dad’s work, and it sounded like maybe Dad didn’t have a job. And Mom only worked part time. And Jonathan had a little money saved up from his paper route, but not very much.

 

He knew it wasn’t called rent, what they paid for the house. There was another word that Mom and Dad always used when fighting over house payments, but Jonathan couldn’t remember it. It didn’t matter anyway, the little savings he had wouldn’t go very far, no matter what the right term happened to be.

 

But despite what he told Mom, he was **_not_** sure that Will was all right, so Jonathan did not want to be the one to bring up the idea to Will that they might have to move.

 

It was like they had switched personalities all week. Will was still normal with Jonathan, if a little more subdued than usual, but he avoided his friends and was short with Mom. And Jonathan started to recognize himself in Will’s recent behavior.

 

_Is **that** is how **I** seem most of the time? So anti-social and withdrawn?_

 

And Jonathan found himself going exactly the other way, being like what he thought Will usually was like -- or Mom -- helpful and cheerful. It was weird, but on Tuesday night when Will had started acting so **_removed_** , Jonathan just shifted his attitude to be the opposite and it still hadn’t really changed.

 

_Like only one of us can be an anti-social dick at a time. It won’t work to have the whole family be like that. Who would answer the phone?_

 

It didn’t suit him, Jonathan could tell, and he really couldn’t keep it up forever, especially the smiling all the time part, but it was easier than he thought it would be.

 

Will had been tackling a pile of newspapers and magazines over on a low shelf in the shed. Jonathan had glanced at it when he started and figured that most of it would go on the burn pile. It was mostly old magazines and a bunch of the extra newspapers that always seemed left over from Jonathan’s route. Will had already called Jonathan over when he found a complete and still bound package of inserts in the pile.

 

Jonathan was at a loss at first for how this could have happened until he remembered one weekend when the papers and the inserts came late and Jonathan was so behind on school work and was worrying about getting everything done and he couldn’t find the inserts. Jonathan remembered Dad had said, “I guess they weren’t delivered, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

 

And here they were in this pile of junk. So they **_had_** been delivered.

 

_Was that Dad’s way of helping me_? Jonathan wondered. _Not sitting down to work on the inserts **with** me, but making them disappear to the shed so no one would have to do them_?

 

Jonathan thought about that when Will called him over to look, but didn’t say anything about Dad to Will. It was the one topic they had avoided discussing in detail all week and Jonathan didn’t know why, it seemed like Dad would be the obvious topic of conversation. But they hadn’t talked about it, and Jonathan didn’t want to be the one to break the silence now, so he just said to Will, “Burn pile.”

 

Then he went back over to the bench where Will had left his canteen and took a big swig of water at the exact wrong moment. Because it was at that moment Will asked, “What’s a hooker?”

 

Jonathan started to choke so badly his face turned red and he couldn’t catch his breath. It was like his whole upper body seized. He was wheezing and struggling for breath; every intake of air produced a little whistle and for a moment he was scared he would die. He raised his arm above his head, because somewhere in the recesses of his mind someone had once told him to do that if you were choking. Jonathan had no idea if that was what did the trick, but the choking feeling receded and his breathing started to come back to normal.

 

Jonathan was doubled over, his right arm raised above his head, his left arm planted on his knee, as Will approached him.

 

Will looked more like himself than he had all week, concerned and kind. He asked, “Are you okay?”

 

Jonathan managed to nod and swipe at his watering eyes and mutter, “Wrong pipe.” And then, “I’m okay. What did you ask me though?”

 

Will held up what looked like a newspaper, but it was not like any that Jonathan had seen before. The title was _Screw_. Will pointed to a headline and read aloud, like he was reading Dick and Jane at school, “How to Find the Best Hookers.” Then he paused and moved down to another headline and started to read, “How to lick a cl—“ before Jonathan cut him off.

 

“Will!” Jonathan almost shouted, “Where did you find that?”

 

Will pointed. “Over there. There’s a bunch of these. Some magazines with naked people, too.”

 

Will looked up at Jonathan earnestly. “So do you know? What a hooker is?”

 

Jonathan did know. But he was not ready to have this conversation with Will. His Dad had had a couple of awkward conversations with Jonathan about sex and **_other_** things. Most recently on their last hunting trip together last fall, once Will was asleep. That was the first time Will had gone hunting. And it had not been a rousing success. But also, not nearly as bad a disaster as Jonathan’s first hunting trip when he had killed a rabbit and cried for like a week.

 

_Nothing could really top that_ , Jonathan thought. _But Will‘s first trip probably wasn’t the perfect Father-Son trip Dad had been hoping for either_. _And now that Dad’s gone, Will’s first Father-Son hunting trip may also be his last._

 

It was after the awkward “birds and bees” conversations he had with his Dad that Jonathan resolved he would make sure he was available to answer all of Will’s inevitable questions.

 

_Because that’s what big brothers are for,_ Jonathan thought. _Besides, I couldn’t possibly be any worse at it than Dad._

 

But honestly, Jonathan had thought any such questions would be a long way off, because Will was still so little.

 

_He’s still a baby, really._

 

“Sooo,” Will persisted, drawing out the word. “Do you?”

 

_Or not as much of a baby as I hoped_.

 

“I do. But it’s a grown up thing, Will. It’s nothing you need to worry about right now.” Then Jonathan tried to distract Will. “Let’s go take a look at all the stuff you found.”

 

Then Jonathan turned and started to move towards the pile of papers, but Will didn’t move to follow, so Jonathan stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Will.

 

Will gave him a sympathetic look and said, “It’s okay if you don’t know.” Will shrugged, “I don’t know what it means, either.”

 

Will followed him then. “I guess I’ll just ask Dustin.”

 

Jonathan narrowed his eyes at Will. Will’s tone was **_almost_** normal, but Jonathan could have sworn something was off. He suddenly felt challenged. It was like Will had suddenly become what so many little brothers were like – bratty and doubting and challenging. Jonathan felt like he was being taunted to answer the question. And that was weird, because he and Will had never really had a competitive relationship in any way.

 

Jonathan felt he was being played in that moment, but he couldn’t resist reasserting his dominance in this situation. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help himself. “I mean, I’ll tell you if you really want to know that bad.”

 

Will stopped moving before he reached the paper pile. And when he turned and looked at Jonathan, his look was piercing and Jonathan felt intensely he was being tested in that moment, but he had no idea what the test was or how to pass it. Will just said, “Okay.”

 

Jonathan moved closer to Will, and resisted the urge to snatch the issue of _Screw_ out of his hand, and said, “A hooker is someone that you pay to have sex with you.” Then to really assert the full measure of his older brother power, Jonathan followed up quickly with a question, letting an insulting amount of doubt creep into his voice. “You **_do_** know what sex is, right?”

 

Will just looked up at him, made a sour face and said, “Yes. Ick. **_What_** type of paper even **_is_** this?”

 

As he said it, Will moved his arm as if to toss the paper. Jonathan took that chance to grab it and say, “A paper for grown-ups, by the look of it.”

 

Then he gestured to the remaining pile and said, “Let’s see what else we have here, okay?”

 

Will nodded and they started going through the pile. There were several issues of _Screw_ which Jonathan put carefully into a separate pile. He looked over at the pile that Will had already made and asked, casually, “There was nothing else like this in **_that_** pile right?”

 

Will shook his head. “Nope, just the regular newspaper and some old magazines Mom brought home from the store. Nothing else like this. I was going to put all of that on the burn pile.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Jonathan kept looking through the papers, and Will was right, he also found some magazines. Jonathan was distracted by a picture of a lady in lingerie and a word he had never seen before. His head was cocked to one side and he was puzzling out how you would even pronounce the word, when he heard Will mutter softly, “Jeez.”

 

Jonathan looked over to see what had made Will react so strongly. As he took in the issue of _Juggs_ magazine, Jonathan’s face unintentionally mirrored his brother’s, with eyes and mouth open wide. The woman on the cover of _Juggs_ had the biggest breasts Jonathan had ever seen.

 

Not that Jonathan had seen a lot. Or **_any_** in real life.

 

But one of his friends from school had an older brother that was away in the service, and they had snooped in his room and found some copies of _Playboy_ and _Hustler_. And Jonathan had been too excited looking at those magazines to properly memorize everything he saw for future reference, but he was sure that there was nothing in those magazines quite **_that_** size.

 

Jonathan tried and failed to keep the wonder out of his voice when he said to Will, “Jeez is right.”

 

Will looked over at him, almost laughing. “They’re bigger than my head.”

 

Jonathan **_did_** laugh. It was true.

 

“What type of magazines are these?” Will asked as he stacked the glossy magazines in one pile and the newsprint _Screw_ issues in another.

 

“Porno mags,” Jonathan said wisely, using the term his friend had used for his enlisted brother’s stash.

 

“What do you mean?” asked Will.

 

“You know the magazine rack behind the counter at 7-Eleven? With the cardboard covering up the covers?”

 

Will nodded.

 

“Those ones back there are all dirty magazines with naked ladies in them. You have to be like eighteen or twenty-one to buy them or something.”

 

Will nodded as if he understood. “Like booze and cigarettes?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Will continued sorting, pausing occasionally to take in some of the graphic pictures. Jonathan helped and as he was sorting Jonathan began to realize that not all the magazines were exactly like the ones behind the counter. And some of them were very different from _Playboy_.

 

Jonathan recognized some of the magazines as titles you could get at 7-Eleven, like _Barely Legal_ and _Genesis_. The cardboard only covered the pictures after all. The top of the magazine where you could see the title and the issue, and importantly, the price, were still revealed to the world. But some of these magazines of Dad’s didn’t even look like proper magazines that you would see in a store. For one thing the magazines Jonathan had looked at had pictures of naked ladies, sure, but some of these magazines showed couples engaging in sex acts, and there was nothing like that in the magazines Jonathan had seen.

 

“What language is this?” Will asked, interrupting Jonathan’s fixation on a couple who looked like they were in a very uncomfortable position, though their faces told a different tale.

 

Jonathan looked over at the magazine that Will was holding. He was right, it wasn’t in English. He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

 

Will looked thoughtful. “I didn’t know Dad knows other languages.”

 

“I don’t think he does,” said Jonathan.

 

_There isn’t much text, though_ , thought Jonathan, _and the focus of these magazines is more on pictures anyway_.

 

Jonathan was thinking quickly, trying to find a way to explain this pile of dirty magazines to Will, when the magazines and issues of _Screw_ became the least of Jonathan’s worries.

 

As Will put the foreign language magazine aside and picked up another from the pile, a bunch of photos spilled out of the magazine and into the dirt.

 

“What are these?” asked Will, reaching out to grab them.

 

Jonathan reached for one too. It was a Polaroid of a nearly naked woman. Jonathan flipped it over and on the back was a name written in a feminine scrawl.

 

“It’s a Polaroid picture.”

 

“What’s a Polaroid?”

 

Jonathan had been really interested in photography lately, ever since he had gotten a camera with his paper route money. And he knew the answer to Will’s question.

 

“You know how I take the film from my camera down to the Foto Hut to get it developed?”

 

“At that little building in the parking lot of Bradley’s Big Buy?”

 

“Exactly. With most pictures you take, you have to take the film to be developed. And you know how it comes back in the little envelopes with the negatives tucked inside?”

 

Will nodded. “Sure.”

 

“Hopefully when I get to High School I can learn to develop my own pictures, but for now I take them to Foto Hut. But if you have a special Polaroid camera, you can take a picture and it’s like self-developing. You just wait and it comes out like this.”

 

Will smiled. “So you get to see the picture right away and know if it’s a good one.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

_And also no one else at Foto Hut gets to look at the pictures you’re taking, so apparently you can be half naked in them._

 

Jonathan stared at some of the Polaroids, gathering them up. They looked cheap to him. And ugly. And not just because of the women in them, and how they were posing. They were just bad pictures, taken badly.

 

They had learned in geography class that some native aboriginal people, when confronted with cameras for the first time, thought that having someone take your picture was like them stealing your soul. Jonathan had never understood that.  Photos had always seemed so intriguing and beautiful to him in the past. But looking at these Polaroids made him understand, just a little bit, how you could think that a picture could steal your soul.

 

_I’m never going to shoot Polaroid_ , Jonathan thought.

 

“So did Dad know all these women?”

 

Jonathan didn’t like to think about that question. He said slowly, “I don’t know. Maybe not. You could just mail a Polaroid.”

 

Jonathan wasn’t sure if he was just saying what he thought Will wanted to hear, or if he was saying what he himself hoped was true. But as he said it, he wanted to believe it. “Maybe he never met them in person.”

 

They continued to sort the dirty magazines and the issues of _Screw._ They didn’t find any more Polaroid pictures, just the half dozen or so that had fallen out of the magazine.

 

Jonathan glanced over at Will and didn’t know what to say. Will looked deflated and withdrawn again, which prior to this week would have been a rare occurrence, but at this point, since Dad left, it was becoming the new normal.  Jonathan didn’t know how much Will understood or how much he would even want to talk about this. Jonathan only knew that there was no way he was going to let Mom see those pictures. He said to Will, “We can’t let Mom see these, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Will agreed, nodding.

 

“Grab those other papers,” Jonathan said pointing to the pile of actual scrap newspapers and magazines, “and let’s go out to the burn pile.”

 

Jonathan silently grabbed the pile of dirty magazines and newspapers and set them on the workbench. He grabbed the Polaroids and a book of matches and followed Will to the burn pit.

 

The burn pit was sort of a hole that Dad had dug behind and away from the shed and surrounded with a metal ring. Like a fire pit, but deeper. This was where they burned garbage and leaves. It was something you couldn’t do in the town proper, but the Byers house was far enough out that this was allowed.

 

Will dumped the papers in and Jonathan added the Polaroids and lit the pile. It caught easily and the little plastic strip which held the un-delivered packet of inserts together turned weird colors and gave off acrid smelling smoke as it curled and blackened. Chester, who had come over to see what they were doing, moved away quickly once the fire started. He was well trained to stay far away from the fire pit.

 

Jonathan watched as the Polaroids caught and began to curl in on themselves. The image of the woman with her butt pointed to the camera darkened and faded from view as the pictures burned.

 

They watched the fire in silence, until Will asked, softly, “Shouldn’t we also burn those magazines? And the papers about finding hookers?”

 

“No,” said Jonathan. He realized he had said it quickly. Too quickly and maybe too sharply.

 

He softened his tone and said “No. We shouldn’t.”

 

_Because I want to look at them_ , he thought. _Privately_.

 

But he couldn’t say that to Will. So aloud he explained, “I know some guys, even high school guys, who would pay a lot of money just to **_see_** those, much less have one.” Jonathan thought about his conversation with Mom, and how they were going to have to talk about the money situation, and then decided that Will couldn't be protected from money issues forever.

 

_Besides, he just learned about hookers and saw a bunch of pictures of people having sex, so I guess he’ll live through the revelation that we’re poor and about to be even poorer_.

 

So Jonathan expanded on this, trying not to be alarmist or upsetting, but just honest. He said, “And I think we’re going to need money. Now.”

 

Will looked back down at the fire. “That’s why we’re making a garage sale pile, I guess.”

 

Jonathan nodded at him, relieved he understood.

 

“And I guess we can’t sell those at a garage sale. Dustin’s Mom goes to all the garage sales. If she saw those I think she’d drop dead.”

 

Jonathan nodded. “I can try to sell them to guys at school, or to some high school guys.”

 

“What about when Dad comes back? Won’t he ask about them?” Will asked quietly.

 

This was the first time Will had asked a direct question to Jonathan about seeing Dad again. Due to Will’s use of the word “when”, Jonathan again felt like Will was testing him, and worried that the truth as he saw it would upset Will.

 

Jonathan said slowly, and as gently as he could, “I’m not sure he’s going to come back, Will.”

 

If possible Will looked even more deflated and stone-faced than before.

 

Jonathan tried to continue, not sure what would make Will feel better, but desperate to try. “And even if he does, it’s not like he’ll ask Mom or us like, ‘hey have you guys seen my stash of porno mags and creepy Polaroids’?”

 

Will nodded. Then asked, “What about the booze and the cigarettes we found?”

 

“I could try to sell those too,” Jonathan thought aloud. “Or just take them in to Mom – she could use them.”

 

Will frowned down at the fire. Will’s face was flushed, and Jonathan wasn’t sure if it was the close proximity to the heat or something else. Will sighed, and cast Jonathan a disapproving look. “I know you’ve tried smoking Jonathan.”

 

Jonathan was surprised, but tried not to show it. “Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah, I smelled it on you. I get it. It’s pretty easy to sneak them.”

 

“True,” Jonathan admitted. “Have you tried it?”

 

“No,” Will said flatly. “Mom says we’re too young and that it could stunt our growth.” Will paused a moment, then continued, “And I **_want_** to grow.” He shot Jonathan a defiant look. “Maybe if I get big enough no one will pick on me anymore.”

 

Jonathan wanted to reach over and put his hand on Will’s shoulder then. He hated hearing that Will and his friends got picked on more now that Nancy and Jonathan weren’t in the same school to protect them. But Jonathan also knew from experience that size didn’t always protect you anyway.

 

“There’s always someone bigger Will. Besides it doesn’t really stunt your growth, but you’re right, you shouldn’t smoke. It’s gross.”

 

Will looked over at him then. “You really think that?”

 

“Yes,” Jonathan lied. “Totally gross. I’ll never do it again.”

 

Jonathan lied easily to Will about things like this. Face-saving, older brother things. Jonathan knew that he would cave and admit the truth if Will confronted him directly, but sometimes the lie Mom and Will wanted to hear was a lot easier to verbalize than the more complicated truth.

 

The truth was that smoking hadn’t really done much for Jonathan, but he didn’t find it **_gross_** either. The smell of it, lingering in the air, was something he was so used to, he didn’t even recognize it anymore. It didn’t specifically bring to mind cigarettes, just **_home_**. To Jonathan, the smell of second-hand smoke was just the smell of home. When he was at some of his friends’ houses, where no one smoked, he found that he didn’t like the way they smelled. It smelled like school there. Or a hospital. Institutional. Not a place where real people lived.

 

Will poked at the dwindling flames with a stick. He didn’t look at Jonathan as he asked, “And the beers?”

 

They had found half a six-pick of beer in the shed as well, still tethered together by the plastic rings.

 

Jonathan shrugged. “We can just take it in and put it in the fridge with the others.” Jonathan glanced over at Will then. “Unless . . . did you want to try it or something?”

 

Will looked up at Jonathan and said carefully, “I dunno. Have **_you_** tried it?”

 

Jonathan nodded. “Sure. When Dad took me on my first hunting trip, that was my big reward for shooting the rabbit.” Jonathan rolled his eyes at the thought, “I got to try some beer.”

 

Will just looked up at him expectantly. “And?”

 

Jonathan knew that the face-saving big brother line would be to say it was great or that he and Dad put their feet up and went through a six pack together around the fire while re-living the exciting tale of how Jonathan shot the rabbit. Jonathan was pretty sure that **_was_** the face-saving story Dad told his buddies when recounting taking his eldest on his first hunting trip.

 

The more complicated truth was that Jonathan had been so traumatized at killing the rabbit that he had cried. And he had felt close to tears the whole rest of the trip. Maybe offering Jonathan his first taste of beer had been Dad’s way of distracting him, of trying to cheer him up, but it hadn’t worked.

 

Jonathan didn’t know what he had been expecting, but beer always looked so bubbly and foamy, that he supposed he thought it would taste sweet and tingly, like root beer. It hadn’t. When he tried it, he remembered that he made a face and Dad had laughed. Jonathan had thought for just a second that his Dad would be mad, like by not liking beer he had failed the grown-up “man test”. That was the only reason Jonathan had shot the bunny. He felt it was part of some “man test” that his Dad wanted him to take part in and he hadn’t wanted to fail.

 

_I failed it anyway in the end, since I couldn’t stop blubbering_.

 

But Dad hadn’t been upset that Jonathan only took a couple sips of the beer, before setting it aside in favor of a soda. Dad seemed to expect that. And when he laughed, Jonathan didn’t think Dad was laughing **_at_** him. Dad did do that sometimes. Laugh at Jonathan. He could be mean and pick fights. But Jonathan remembered that his Dad had called the whole trip, the hunting and trying a beer a “rite of passage”. Something Dad had done with Grandpa.

 

Jonathan looked over and Will was still waiting patiently for an answer. Jonathan smiled ruefully, and went with the harder, more complicated truth this time. “I didn’t like it. I only took like two drinks and then asked if I could have pop instead.”

 

Jonathan hoped that Will would smile or chuckle, but he didn’t. The fire had died down enough that it would sputter out on its own, so Jonathan snapped his fingers to get Chester’s attention and said to Will, “C’mon, let’s head back to the shed.”

 

As the three of them walked the short distance back around to the front of the shed, Jonathan tried to keep Will talking, “What about you? You had your first hunting trip last year, did Dad give you a sip of beer?”

 

“You were there Jonathan.” There was an edge to Will’s voice that seemed out of place. It wasn’t unfamiliar, it actually reminded Jonathan of their Dad. But it was not a tone that Will had really used with him.

 

_Is Will mad at **me** about something? Is he trying to pick a fight_?

 

Will continued dully, “You know what happened. You know he didn’t.”

 

It was true that Jonathan hadn’t seen Dad give Will any beer, but Jonathan had also made sure to go off on his own a bunch of different times, to give them time alone.

 

The whole family had been surprised when Jonathan asked if he could come along on Will’s first hunting trip. Jonathan hadn’t fired a gun since his own first hunting trip and he and his Dad had found many excuses not to go out alone together on such a trip again. For the longest time now, Jonathan had been using his paper route as the excuse.

 

But Jonathan had expressed excitement at going out on a “guys weekend” with Will and Dad and stressed that he was excited to get a bunch of shooting in. The joke was that Jonathan then hefted Mom’s camera, to clarify what type of shooting he actually meant. It had been an excuse of course, but a very believable one no one seemed to question. Even if all four of them around the dinner table understood on some level the real reasons Jonathan wanted to go, no one could really say anything. And his Mom had expressed enthusiasm for the plan, which proved to Jonathan he was doing the right thing, and that she wanted him there too. So Jonathan had paid a kid from school to do his route for that weekend, and he had gone along.

 

And nothing really bad had happened. At least not the type of thing Jonathan had worried about. No explosion from Dad. No need to step between Dad and Will.

 

_And nothing so humiliating as the “bunny breakdown” I put Dad through when I was Will’s age._

 

Will was actually pretty good with the rifle. He had taken to the lessons Dad gave him out behind the house really well. He could handle the rifle, load and even clean it. He always held it muzzle down when walking and always pointed it away from the house. To Jonathan, Will seemed more fluid and confident holding the little rifle than Jonathan had been on his first hunting trip.

 

It had been very early fall, the first weekend of deer season, and Dad had been excited, showing them the deer blinds, and explaining about the things you could tell from tracks and scat about where to set up. He had gone on and on about “rub lines” and how that could be a good clue about where a buck’s living area was. Dad had been pretty into it, explaining that in early season morning set-ups might not be the best, but if you could find a rub line, the bucks would often work rub lines as they returned to bed. So based on what Dad found, he wanted to break convention and get up long before dawn the next morning to stake out the rub line he had found.

 

Jonathan had asked to come along to the deer blind the next morning, even though he would have rather slept in.

 

If **_something_** happened, anything bad, Jonathan planned to be there.

 

_To protect Will_.

 

It was something that had been drilled into his head from a young age. Mom had even said it again this morning. “Take care of your brother.” Jonathan had engineered coming along to do just that.

 

But nothing bad had happened. Dad had allowed Jonathan to come along to the deer blind, warning him not to bring the camera, since even the slight noise the camera made could scare off the “targets”. Jonathan thought his Dad didn’t know what he was talking about, but had dutifully obeyed.

 

And Jonathan had been bored out of his mind, almost falling asleep in the early morning light, when a large deer had entered their line of sight. Dad had whispered encouragement to Will and made some excited comment about an “eight point buck” and nudged Will to take aim. And Jonathan had watched Will for signs of fear or stress, but he hadn’t seen any. Will had taken careful aim, and fired.

 

And missed.

 

The deer had run off then, of course. And then Jonathan turned his attention to Dad, searching for signs of anger or temper, but there weren’t any obvious ones. They waited around for what seemed to Jonathan like forever, but eventually called it a day.

 

Jonathan had taken that opportunity to give Dad and Will some alone time for some Father-Son bonding and wandered off alone to shoot some film in the wilderness. He took care to wear his vest and the hat that were supposed to make him more visible to other hunters, so he didn’t get shot. And he had gotten some great pictures that day. Jonathan preferred people as subjects, really, but he could see why some people loved wildlife photography best. It was peaceful and beautiful. There were some spots so overgrown, he felt like an intruder. Like he was the only human to ever walk in that exact spot.

 

Jonathan got to shoot a deer that evening, as dusk faded into darkness. He liked to think it was the same deer they had seen earlier in the morning, but that seemed more poetic than likely. But the pictures were beautiful, the teachers at school said so. Even Dad said so. And Dad had been right about one thing, the animal had heard the soft click-whirr of the camera and once Jonathan had gotten a couple shots off, it bolted.

 

And when Jonathan had gotten back to camp, they ate a late supper together and then Will went off to bed. That was when Jonathan had been treated to Dad’s version of the birds and the bees talk, focusing on Dad’s sage wisdom about the danger of “getting girls in a family way” and the perils of “playing with yourself”.

 

But despite the cringe-worthy sex talk, Jonathan didn’t recall the hunting trip as a bad experience. Not like his own trip. So he wasn’t sure where Will’s charged attitude was coming from.

 

As they rounded the corner to the shed, he tried to keep things light. “Well I mean, I went off on my own for a long time to shoot those pictures. I just thought he might have offered you some then.”

 

Will stopped short near the pile of things which they had set aside to sell. He looked down and said, “Well, he didn’t.”

 

Will sounded sad and disappointed, which made no sense to Jonathan at all.

 

_Didn’t I just get done telling him that it wasn’t good? That he isn’t missing anything?_

 

“Well, you can try it if you want to. It was pretty bad even cold, so I’m not sure what it’s going to be like warm, but you can . . .”

 

Will interrupted him then. “What is this doing in **_this_** pile?”

 

He sounded offended, affronted, his voice rising now in a way Jonathan recognized. What Jonathan thought of as his Dad’s “pissed-off” tone sounded almost comical in Will’s high-pitched voice, but the heat behind it was unmistakable and Jonathan was careful not to laugh or smile.

 

Will had picked up the little rifle, which Jonathan had put onto the “sell” pile.

 

“That’s for sure worth something, Will. You know that store Hunting and Camping? They pay top dollar for guns.”

 

“But why would we sell this?”

 

“Why would we keep it?” Jonathan asked, shrugging. Will looked like he wanted to respond, but Jonathan cut him off. “Who would even use it? Mom would just hurt herself, and I never want to go hunting again. And it’s worth good money.”

 

Will fixed him with a deadly stare, “ ** _I_** could use it, you know. Did you ever think of **_that_**?”

 

Jonathan wasn’t sure where this was coming from. He shrugged and said, “I thought after last fall that you wouldn’t . . .”

 

Jonathan just trailed off, letting the implication sink in.

 

“Last fall?” Will questioned, as if he didn’t understand the seasons or the English language. Will was turning red, and his face was scrunching up, in apparent anger or frustration. He sputtered, “You . . .”

 

Then Will shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing or seeing.  Then, his eyes narrowed to a dangerous degree, and just when Jonathan thought Will was going to go into a full-on tantrum, Will’s expression turned cold and his stare icy.

 

Will carefully set down the rifle and approached the garbage pile. He selected a small empty tin can and walked off towards the woods and set the can on a tree stump, quite a ways away. He jogged back to the sell pile and kneeled to grab the small box of ammo and the rifle and stood and loaded it with quick ease. Then he turned to Jonathan to make sure Jonathan was still watching and he glanced over to where Chester sat, tense at the sounds of the rifle, making sure the mutt was out of the line of fire.

 

Then Will turned and took aim and blew the can off the stump in one shot.

 

He did it fluidly. Then looked back at Jonathan again, hopeful. Jonathan didn’t think to wipe the surprised look off his face, and when Will saw that, Will’s face fell.

 

Will picked up the box of ammo and the rifle and carried them to the shed. Jonathan followed wordlessly. Will put them both in their appointed place, and turned to Jonathan and said flatly and with finality, “I’m keeping the rifle, Jonathan.”

 

Then Will moved to exit the shed, but Jonathan was partially blocking the way.

 

Will looked up at Jonathan, a mournful look on his face. He said softly, “Last fall I just didn’t want to hurt an animal. So I missed, Jonathan. I missed on purpose. And I thought one of you would figure it out.  But both of you were **_so_** ready to believe I would suck at it.”

 

Jonathan felt bad then. It was true, at least a little. He hadn’t been surprised Will missed the deer last fall, and he **_had_** been surprised when Will picked off the can just now. At a loss for anything to say, Jonathan just stepped to the side and let Will pass.

 

Will approached the pile of things he was going to take to Castle Byers and dug his toe into some oblong pieces of roughly cut wood he wanted to use to make some more signs. He reached down to pick one up, gripping it tightly in both hands. Without turning around to face Jonathan, he said, “And when you went off to take your stupid pictures, Dad didn’t offer me a sip of beer, he didn’t even talk to me much at all. He just kept giving me these sad glances. Like he was disappointed. Like I could never be a man.”

 

Will paused, and his grip on the board was so tight, his hands were shaking slightly. Then he said even more softly still, “Like I could never be the kind of son he actually **_wanted_**.”

 

Jonathan walked up to stand next to Will and nudged him gently with his elbow. “I didn’t know you missed on purpose, Will. It just proves you’re braver than me.” Jonathan looked over at Will and nudged him again, trying to get him to look back at Jonathan. “Or smarter than me.”

 

Finally Will did look up at him, so Jonathan smiled, and finished, “Or both.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I didn’t want to shoot that rabbit either, but I let Dad pressure me into it. And you didn’t let him make you do something you didn’t want to do. You didn’t hurt that deer.”

 

“That’s just it, Jonathan, maybe I **_should_** have. You proved at least you **_could_** do it.” Will paused and looked down at his feet. “Maybe if I had just proven that I could do it, too, maybe . . .” Will’s voice sputtered out then and he trailed off.

 

Jonathan turned to look at Will and said solemnly, “None of this is our fault, Will.”

 

“We’re his family. You, Mom and **_me_**. If not ours, then whose?”

 

“Maybe it’s no one’s fault. Maybe sometimes things just happen. I just really wish you wouldn’t beat yourself up about it so much. I hate seeing you so down. You’ve been acting so weird all week.”

 

“Me? **_You’ve_** been acting weird,” Will muttered.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Smiling. Happy.” Will’s face crinkled into a grimace and one hand let go of the board and came up to the ridge between his brows as his head shook back and forth.

 

Then he stopped shaking his head and fixed Jonathan with an accusatory look. “Just admit it, Jonathan, you’re **_glad_**.” Will’s voice was raised now and Jonathan wondered if Mom could hear him. “You’re **_glad_** that he’s gone.”

 

“Okay Will, calm down, you’re right. I wanted him to leave.” Jonathan paused then himself, and considered whether to say the most secret thing he had been thinking.

 

_Hell with it_ , Jonathan thought.

 

“Y’know what else?” Jonathan asked quickly, his voice cracking, “Y’know what? I don’t **_want_** to see him again.”

 

“You’re never going to see him?”

 

“Of course I will. I’m sure I’ll **_have_** to until I can find some excuse or until I’m old enough to say ‘no.’”

 

Jonathan’s look turned stony then, and he knew that it turned stony as if he was facing off with Dad, as if he was saying these things to **_Dad_** and not to his little brother. And Jonathan realized even as he said it, that his anger and coldness weren't for Will but for Dad. But he couldn’t keep them fully out of his voice or off his face.

 

“But when I **_am_** old enough. I don’t think I’m **_ever_** going to see him again.”

 

Will looked shocked, and Jonathan could see the liquid pooling in Will’s eyes.

 

“I don’t claim him as my family, Will. That’s **_you_** and **_Mom_**. He’s . . . he’s **_nothing_** to me.”

 

Will’s face was contorted in an anger that Jonathan had rarely seen before.

 

“Well great for **_you_** , Jonathan. But maybe **_he_** felt that. Maybe if you didn’t **_want_** him to go, he **_wouldn’t_** have gone. And maybe if Mom had **_begged_** him to stay he **_would_** have stayed.”

 

Tears trickled down Wills cheeks then, and he rushed to continue, speaking quickly as if wanted to chase the tears, to get this out before the tears took shape and became real.

 

“And maybe if **_I_** could have killed that deer. If I could have been the type of son he **_wanted_** me to be, maybe then . . . maybe. . . .”

 

Will trailed off then, and seemed to be on the verge of breaking down.

 

Now Jonathan was scared. He rushed to try to reassure, to calm.

 

“You don’t have to be the type of boy he wanted you to, in order to be a good son, Will. You should just be the type of boy **_you_** want to be.”

 

“Well how about this, **_Jonathan_**. . .”

 

Jonathan cringed as Will spat Jonathan’s name like a curse, or like a foul taste he wanted to be rid of.

 

“ ** _I_** want to be a boy who **_still_** has a Dad!”

 

Jonathan was frightened then. Frightened of Will’s rage. Frightened to say aloud some terrible things he had often thought, but never considered saying before. He lowered his voice, and said them in spite of the fear.

 

“He wasn’t much of a Dad, Will. He never was.”

 

Will glowered at him, defiant. “He still could be Jonathan. He **_could_** be.”

 

Jonathan felt his heart break a little.

 

_How can Will be so wrong? It’s like we’re talking about two different people._

 

Jonathan tried to sound softer, less angry, more matter-of-fact.

 

“Will, I don’t think you’re getting me. **_Dad_** could be a good father in the same way **_you and I_** could be good hunters. We could try. We **_did_** try. But our hearts weren’t in it, and when you get right down to it we don’t **_want_** to be hunters.”

 

“Shut up.” Will’s mouth was set in a grim stubborn line.

 

Jonathan forced himself to continue on, “And when you get right down to it, Will, he didn’t **_want_** to be a father.”

 

“I said, ‘Shut Up!’”

 

Jonathan moved towards Will then and Will swung up the piece of board he was still holding in one hand. Will was brandishing the oblong piece of wood defensively, like he was holding a weapon to keep Jonathan back. Chester, who was already upset due to the yelling, barked softly and moved away from them both.

 

Jonathan stopped in his tracks, shocked. He watched Will’s face contort from rage to something else, tears flowing down his cheeks.

 

“How long Jonathan? How long was he nothing?”

 

Will dug viciously at his eye with one hand but the other still held the board, like a shield.

 

“Do you have like, a list or something? Of do’s and don’t's? Maybe I can get a copy. So I’ll **_know_**.”

 

Tears were sliding down Will’s dirty face, making clean lines in the dust and dirt caked there.

 

_A list?_ _A copy?_ _What is he talking about_?

 

Jonathan tried to be calming. “I don’t know what you mean, Will.”

 

“I want the list, of what **_not_** to do. So that you don’t throw **_me_** away like you did Dad.”

 

Will was clutching the piece of wood to his chest now, like a lifeline.

 

“Like something from the shed no one wants, only good for the burn pile.”

 

Will was shaking. He didn’t even bother to hide his tears or his runny nose. He didn’t seem to care. Now he was cradling the piece of wood almost gently. When he spoke again it was so softly that Jonathan had to strain to hear. “I don’t want to be nothing to you.”

 

Jonathan didn’t know what to say, but he knew he had to say something. He started, “Will, I . . . “

 

“Shut up.”

 

The heat and the panic were gone from Will’s voice now. He repeated himself, dully, resigned. “Just shut up now, Jonathan.”

 

Will dropped the wood he'd been holding back to the pile on the ground. Then he looked over at Jonathan and gave a little smile. But Jonathan felt it wasn't a kind smile. It was a deadly cold smile. Jonathan frowned because it was like everything he knew and loved about Will was not there in that moment.

 

“I wish I was more like you. And him. You’re just like **_him_**.”

 

Will’s brittle smile faded and he shrugged. “I wish I felt **_nothing_**. Like the both of you. Then this might be easier for me. Like it is for you. For him.”

 

Will turned away then, and started grabbing things from the pile to take to Castle Byers.

 

Without turning back to Jonathan, he asked, “Can you do me a favor?”

 

Jonathan wanted to grab him. Hold Will like Will had been cradling that stupid piece of wood. Or shake some sense into him. Both impulses warred in Jonathan’s mind. Either of them would have been out of love. Jonathan did neither. He stood perfectly still and said the only response that was true. The one thing he meant with every fiber of his being.

 

“Anything.”

 

“Can you take Chester back to the house for me? And stay away from Castle Byers today? I need to be alone, with my friends. I need . . . to think.”

 

Jonathan felt like he had been punched in the gut. There was a thickness in his throat and his eyes burned. And he knew he might cry.

 

“About what?”

 

Will’s shoulders slumped, and he said slowly, “About how he didn’t even come to say goodbye. And how you’re **_glad_**.”

 

Will hefted a few items into his arms, clearly intending to leave.

 

“Maybe **_I_** can learn to feel nothing too. Maybe that’s how I need to be. Now.”

 

And then, without waiting for a response or turning to look at Jonathan, Will just walked away, into the woods.

 

\---

 

Joyce took one last swipe at the kitchen counter and inhaled deeply when the knocking started. She let the breath out slowly, calming herself, and threw the dishrag at the sink and gave up on her half-hearted attempt to “straighten up” the kitchen.

 

Jonathan had been right, earlier. After some coffee and a long shower, she had shaken the dream cobwebs and her memories off and felt more like herself. The only things that still remained of her dream and memories were the refrains of “Help!” and “Daydream Believer” which still echoed through her head whenever her mind was idle.

 

By the time she got dressed and started to worry about “tidying up,” Chester was back in the house, sprawled across the hallway like a toll collector. And Jonathan had made several trips in and out, bringing things in from the back yard. He was filthy and smelled like smoke. On one trip he even brought in his newspaper bag, which looked filled up with something.

 

_It seems too early for the inserts to be here_ , she thought idly as she tried to dust and clear out the ashtrays in the living room.

 

Jonathan had said that Will was taking things out to Castle Byers. And then he had stressed to her that Will had asked for some time alone with his friends.

 

_So he **is** going to stop avoiding **them** ,_ she thought when Jonathan told her, _just not **me**._

 

She couldn’t help but go to the back window and watch Will for a bit when she heard noises indicating he had returned. It looked like he still had several trips to make. She watched him struggle to fill up the wheelbarrow with some of the things he had set aside, and resisted the urge to go out to him then. To talk to him. To help him. To suggest that he use the little wagon instead, since she suspected that the wide handles of the wheelbarrow were slightly **_too_** wide for his little arms to control successfully.

 

But she would honor his request. For now.

 

So she just watched him and when he felt her eyes on him, he looked up at the house and saw her in the window. She gave him a little smile and a wave. And he returned the wave at least, if not the smile. As she watched him struggle to control the wheelbarrow, Joyce realized if the boys were all going to spend their whole time out at the shack, she would need to get something fixed up for them to eat out there. So she had returned to the kitchen and busied herself making sandwiches and bagging up some snack items. And she had just been finishing trying to clean up when she heard a car door slam outside, followed by the knocking at the front door.

 

As Joyce moved to the front door, she did one last glance around the house, looking for any obvious messes or imperfections. She didn’t really know why she did this. The rational part of her mind knew that Karen was coming over to be nice and to offer her support, not to compare their houses or critique Joyce’s cleaning habits. But part of Joyce always felt short and sloppy and a mess compared to Karen, ever since they were teens.

 

When Joyce opened the front door to greet her guests, she recognized why she still felt the same way twenty years later. There was Karen, with her perfectly coiffed blonde hair and dressed like she was a model for the JC Penney’s catalog.

 

Karen raised her hand in a little wave and flashed Joyce a sympathetic smile. She held a canvas bag in addition to her purse, and from the look of it there was something heavy in the bag.

 

“Hi, Mrs. Byers.”

 

Joyce looked down at the source of the familiar greeting. As she turned to look at Mike, her eyes went wide as she took in the laundry basket full of food he was carrying and holding up to her like an offering. Lined up along the bottom of the laundry basket were three Pyrex casserole dishes. Mike’s noodley little arms were shaking under the weight, so she took pity on him.

 

“Hi, Mike. Let me take that for you.”

 

Joyce hefted the laundry basket and ushered them into the house.

 

_Of course Karen cooked us food_.

 

Joyce should have expected this. Karen was like the Queen of the tragedy phone tree. She always got a call about any bad thing that happened and got on the phone to “the girls” to get people together to “help out.” Helping out often just meant making a bunch of food for the afflicted family, but there you had it.

 

_I guess **we’re** the afflicted family this week_.

 

Joyce led them into the kitchen so she could set down the laundry basket, extract the sympathy food offerings, and get them put away.

 

Karen and Mike followed, Karen handling the canvas bag carefully, and Mike hitching up his backpack, which looked full to the brim. Joyce set the laundry basket on the kitchen table and started to pull out dishes, “What have we got here?”

 

“One is lasagna,” Mike said quietly. “It’s one of Will’s favorites.”

 

“Michael.” Karen shushed him. She looked at Joyce apologetically, “He just means that Will had it once at our house and said he liked it. That’s all.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t quite understand her own offspring. “Michael was just very **_insistent_** that I make something Will would like.”

 

Joyce opened the fridge and carefully arranged the three Pyrex dishes inside. She said, “Will’s mentioned it to me too. I’ve been meaning to ask you for the recipe.”

 

Karen brightened. “I’ll make myself a note to copy it off for you.” Then Karen hefted the canvas bag. “While you have that open we should put these in there too.”

 

She sat down the canvas bag on one of the kitchen chairs and extracted one bottle of wine and then a second.

 

Joyce was surprised, and laughed lightly. “It’s barely the afternoon.”

 

Karen smiled devilishly. “Well you don’t have to work today right? Or drive anywhere?” Then she pointed to the misery buffet she had brought. “And you won’t have to cook anything that requires much attention. I just thought once we got the kids settled, we could relax a bit.” Karen shrugged, “It’s the weekend after all.”

 

Joyce stowed the bottles of wine in the fridge also, then turned to them and said, “Thanks so much you guys. I really appreciate it.”

 

Karen smiled but Mike looked anxious. He was still gripping the straps of his backpack and rocking back and forth on his heels. Most of the time he was staring at Joyce mournfully, but she caught him darting fearful little looks down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

 

Joyce found herself transported back in time again, so maybe she hadn’t shaken off her memories as well as she thought. But she couldn’t help herself.

 

She fixed a somber look on her face, approached Mike, and crouched down to be more at his eye level. She reached out to touch his shoulder, and said in a monotone: “Cheer up sleepy Jean.”

 

For a split second Joyce thought she had made a horrible mistake. Like maybe Mike thought she was making fun of him. Mike looked wibbley and teary and for that second she thought he was going to cry.

 

But then he laughed and thrust himself at her, hugging her tight and muttering, “I’m sorry Mrs. Byers. I am so **_so_** sorry.”

 

And this was what she needed from Will, she knew. The stupid backpack got in the way of the hug, but it was still good. Joyce hugged back, giving herself just a moment, to cling to someone else’s child for comfort. She needed this, but this was not Will. But she took it anyway. And it helped. It helped her to say what she wanted to say to Will but hadn’t been given the chance to. It wasn’t right to use Mike this way, as a substitute, but maybe she was helping him, too.

 

Joyce pulled away from the embrace, kneeling now, and leaving her hands on each of Mike’s shoulders. She looked him dead in the eye and said softly, “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You sound like Will now, he’s always apologizing for everything.”

 

Mike nodded at her as if he was agreeing about Will.

 

“So you need to stop apologizing, okay? None of this is anyone’s fault. And you tell Will that when you see him, okay? No more ‘I’m sorry’ out of you two.”

 

Mike nodded, but still seemed uncertain about something. He asked, “But do you think Will is mad at me – at **_us_**? I mean, he wouldn’t talk to us all week.”

 

Joyce started shaking her head in reassurance the moment she understood what Mike was asking. “No, he’s not mad. He just got so sick when he was out there building that shack . . . “

 

“Castle Byers?” Mike interrupted.

 

Joyce nodded again. “Yes. And also, Will has been pretty upset about what happened. You can understand that, can’t you?”

 

Mike looked thoughtful and nodded.

 

“But I think he’s feeling much better today and he seemed excited to have all you guys come over.” She smiled. “He’s out there already working on it, getting it all fixed up to show you.”

 

“So can I go out there?”

 

“Didn’t you want to wait for Dustin and Lucas?”

 

Mike shook his head adamantly. “They’re not coming until later on their bikes. But if you show me where to go, Will and I can talk them in on the comms.”

 

“Aww sweetie I think Will’s comms are dead. Out of juice. With all that’s been going on I just haven’t had the time . . . .” Joyce trailed off.

 

_Why am I bothering to lie to a child to cover for Will?_

 

Joyce was sure that the comms were fine and that Will had just turned them off to ignore his friends. But Mike seemed so upset and had called and called, so she instinctively gave Will some cover.

 

“It’s okay,” Mike said shrugging and turning to display his backpack. “I brought my comms. And Dustin reminded me to bring a compass. We’ll be able to talk them in. That way they won’t bother your,” he gestured to the fridge and by implication the wine, “grown-up time.”

 

Joyce heard Karen give a barely audible sigh and then looked up at her seeking permission to let Mike head out into the woods. Karen seemed annoyed with her son and the message written all over her face was “let him go, please, as soon as possible.”

 

Joyce smiled kindly and said, “Sounds like a plan. I have some stuff for you to take out to Will. I’ll have Jonathan show you the way.”

 

\---

 

Jonathan watched with amusement as Mike silently counted out the paces, watched the compass, and made notations in his little notebook.

 

Jonathan was loaded down with a paper sack holding sandwiches and crackers and chips, and a plastic bag holding some juice boxes. Mike had his backpack on and was holding the compass and a notepad in one hand and his pencil in the other.

 

Mike had insisted on going out to the front of the house to begin their journey at the tree with the tree swing. And he was making meticulous notes of the paces and the directions from the compass as Jonathan led him around the house and towards Castle Byers. This process was slowing them down so much, they would have already been there if Jonathan could have convinced Mike to skip it.

 

Jonathan said, “It’s not that far once they get back here behind the shed. I mean, you could just shout to each other.”

 

Mike stopped walking, marked something on the pad and said, “The comms are better. Your way would give away our position.”

 

Jonathan smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “To who?”

 

“The enemy,” Mike said solemnly.

 

Jonathan rolled his eyes and thought, not for the first time, what a **_huge_** dork Mike Wheeler was. Jonathan had no idea how serious Mike was being or if he was already in some elaborate fantasy world inspired by the recent creation of an actual fort and clubhouse, in the form of Castle Byers.

 

_I wish Will was with us. He always seems to understand Mike_.

 

Even though it was true that Jonathan was often lumped together with Will and an assortment of his friends, Jonathan was rarely **_alone_** with Will’s friends. Without Will there to mediate and offer translation services from normal to geek-speak, Jonathan sometimes found hanging out alone with Mike sort of awkward.

 

Jonathan glanced over at Mike wanting to express a “let’s get a move on” message, but something in Mike’s face as the boy looked up at him stopped the words on his lips.

 

It was more than just being bigger and taller and the fact that the boys had to physically look up at Jonathan. Jonathan also knew that none of the boys had older brothers of their own, and that Jonathan sort of served that role for them all. He knew that they looked up **_to_** him also. So instead he said, “Carry on,” and gestured Mike forward.

 

Mike smiled and obeyed, and Jonathan had to admit he kind of liked it. Being the big brother. Sure it was more responsibility in a lot of ways. Looking out for the younger kids, fighting all the battles with your parents first, taking the blame as the one who should “know better.”

 

But it was awesome too. Jonathan got to be the decider. And he got to tell them all about what books and movies and music were cool. Jonathan was like the king of cool to them, in a way.

 

Of course it didn’t always work. Mike and Dustin seemed less susceptible to his influence, especially in terms of music. This was evidenced most clearly by the mix tape Jonathan was currently helping Will make as a present for Mike. They had been religiously taping the Dr. Demento show, and Will was crafting a mix-tape for Mike of his favorite nonsense songs.

 

Will was clever about that. About the downside of having multiple “best friends”. The obligation for more presents would have worried Jonathan, but Will was pretty smart about finding something he could make or do for no money at all, or knowing the perfect thing that they really wanted that didn’t actually cost much.

 

As they trudged on, Jonathan allowed Mike to strike out ahead, ready to say something only if Mike was going the wrong way. As Jonathan watched Mike, he rolled his eyes at how Mike was way too formally dressed for a day spent out in the woods. His slacks were neatly pressed, and his collared shirt seemed ill-suited for a day that would likely be spent on the dirty ground and hammering on sticks. It was a well-worn joke between Jonathan and Will that the Wheeler kids basically let Mrs. Wheeler dress them like her personal Barbie and Ken dolls.

 

Once, when Mike was grounded for a mystery reason, Will had joked that Mike got in trouble because he had worn athletic socks with colored stripes on the top that didn’t match the rest of his outfit.

 

Jonathan had laughed, but had made careful study of Nancy and Mike when he had seen them over the next few weeks. And Will was right. Nancy and Mike always had on plain neutral socks, or the color of the socks or the stripes matched the rest of the outfit. It was unbelievable to Jonathan that kids Mike and Nancy’s age would allow their Mom to pick out their outfits for them. But the other explanation was somehow more disturbing. That Mike and Nancy had simply been trained somehow to only leave the house in perfectly matching outfits.

 

_I wonder if they’re always secretly judging our outfits that don’t match?_

 

Jonathan shook his head as he walked. _The Wheelers are **so** weird_.

 

Jonathan was often at the Wheelers and it was so different there. Mr. Wheeler treated all of the kids like alien life forms, like intruders in his house. He was always giving them an absent look, like “how did you get in here?” But Mrs. Wheeler always seemed pleased to see them. In some ways, it was like she was eager to have her house be the hub for all the kids. She never seemed to mind all the comings and goings. And she never hesitated to set an extra plate at the table for the random kids Nancy and Mike brought home.

 

Mike stopped walking abruptly, and Jonathan almost ran into him but stopped in time. Mike marked something down in his notebook and then said, seemingly apropos of nothing, “I think Lucas is bringing a flag.”

 

Jonathan gave Mike a questioning look. “Yeah?”

 

“So, I mean, you guys didn’t put one up already, did you?” Then Mike went on sheepishly. “Lucas is really patriotic because his dad was in the service, in case he hasn’t mentioned it like a **_hundred_** times.”

 

Jonathan smiled, and shook his head. “No we didn’t put one up yet. That’s a really good idea.”

 

Mike smiled and looked relieved. Then he returned his attention to the compass.

 

Jonathan came up beside Mike and said, “You can put that away now. Look.” Jonathan pointed ahead of them, to a little clearing, nestled between some skinny trees. “There it is . . . Castle Byers. You can make it the rest of the way on your own.”

 

Mike tucked the compass and pad away in his pocket. “Aren’t you coming?”

 

Jonathan shook his head. “Nah. I’m going to go back to the house. You guys need time to catch up, go over schoolwork, whatever . . . .”

 

Mike raised his eyebrow as if he wasn’t quite buying it and asked, “And?”

 

Jonathan sighed. “I think Will and me are in a fight.”

 

Mike kept his eyebrow raised and said evenly. “Will says you guys never fight.”

 

Jonathan thought this was true. Until this morning he would have said the same. They teased and tattled and shouted and shoved, but it never felt real. Not like a real fight. More like roughhousing or play-acting than true anger. But what happened this morning had rattled Jonathan.

 

_When Will turned on me holding that board._ _And when I wanted to grab him and **shake** him._

 

There was real anger there. That was the closest Jonathan had ever been to being in a real fight with Will. And he didn’t like it.

 

He tried to back-pedal a bit. “Well, not a fight, really,” Jonathan amended for Mike’s benefit. “But I think that Will is mad at me right now.”

 

“Why?”

 

Jonathan sighed. “I think that Will thinks that I’m not sad enough that Dad left.”

 

_Which is complete bullshit anyway_ , thought Jonathan.

 

Jonathan had cried too. That night building Castle Byers. It was easy to cry then. It was dark, it was raining, and Will was crying. Then again the next day when they stayed home from school, Jonathan had lost it again. But it had been in the privacy of his own room, and he was certain that no one had heard.

 

Jonathan looked down and Mike was staring at him expectantly. Jonathan continued. “I think he blames me and Mom, at least a little, for what happened.”

 

“Why?” asked Mike softly.

 

Jonathan shook his head sadly. “I don’t know.”

 

And Jonathan didn’t really know why. He knew who he blamed. Dad. It was **_so_** easy to blame him.

 

For anything.

 

For **_everything_**.

 

Jonathan hadn’t really ever asked his parents why they were so unhappy. He had never asked, “Are you fighting because of me?”

 

_In case they said “yes,”_ he thought. _That’s why I didn’t ask. But Will seems convinced. That the only thing that would drive Dad away from his family, **was** the family. So that’s why he’s mad at Mom and me. _

 

_And himself._

 

And that was what shook Jonathan the most. That somehow Will actually thought if he had shot a deer and liked sports and hunting instead of drawing and music, that Dad would still be here.

 

And Jonathan truly believed what he had told his Mom this morning. He and Will were old enough to take care of each other. And Jonathan had tried to do that. To connect with Will and to reassure him. And instead they had fought like they’d never fought before. But as Jonathan watched Mike survey Castle Byers in the distance with a dreamy and awed expression, Jonathan realized something.

 

_Me and Mom aren’t the only people Will has. He has another family, kind of. His little gang of four. And they clearly want to help. Dealing with Will’s assignments. Collecting things for Castle Byers. Maybe they could help in other ways, too._

 

“Hey, Mike, before you go. . . .”

 

Mike turned and looked up at him.

 

“If you’re serious about whatever it is you call yourselves . . .”

 

“The Party,” Mike supplied automatically.

 

“Yeah, the Party.” Jonathan nodded. “If you’re serious about being a party, maybe you can help Will. Maybe the four of you are old enough now to take care of **_each other_**.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Sure. I think you’re already doing it, aren’t you?”

 

“How?”

 

“Well, since Nancy and I left the grade school, like how Lucas rushes in to save Will and Dustin from the bullies . . . “

 

Mike nodded along thoughtfully.

 

“. . .or how you guys pool your money.”

 

Mike looked on alert then, and interrupted, “Dustin just likes to be the treasurer of everything.”

 

“Sure,” Jonathan nodded, trying to sound reassuring. “But if I tell you something, will you promise to never tell Will that we talked about it?”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“Will told me how you guys put extra money in for things so he can do them too.”

 

Mike looked wary and defensive and Jonathan was sure he was about to lie, so he cut this off before Mike could open his box of well-packaged fibs. Jonathan’s face burned as he thought of his life of resale shops and hand-me downs and ill-fitting clothes, but he pressed forward.

 

“Look, you and I both know we’re poor, right?”

 

Mike looked embarrassed and glanced away. “I guess . . .”

 

“Well, Will is really embarrassed about it, and I know he doesn’t like to talk about it, but it doesn’t mean that he can’t do math or that he doesn’t know what things cost.”

 

Mike looked down as if he was being scolded.

 

“I bet Will and me know better what things cost than **_you_** do, because **_we_** have to pay attention to it. Do you even know how much a Happy Meal is, or loaf of bread or a shake at Lori’s Diner?”

 

Now Mike’s face was red, and he shook his head slowly.

 

“Well **_we_** do. And Will told me what you do sometimes. How you ask your parents for money for ‘popcorn and a movie’. And you don’t buy popcorn. Will knows that **_he’s_** ‘popcorn’. He said that should be his nickname.”

 

Mike shook his head sharply at this, looking scared but defiant. “His nickname is ‘Will the Wise’”.

 

“I know,” Jonathan smiled kindly. “Will knows. But he also knows that you pool the money. And when he doesn’t have enough, he still gets to go with you. He even said that you take his money and pool it with yours first so the other two don’t know how much either of you put in.”

 

Mike seemed defensive. “It’s not as much fun without Will. But Lucas is always so concerned about everything being equal and fair, so Dustin and I . . . “

 

Mike trailed off lamely, shrugging instead of finishing the sentence.

 

Jonathan was currently learning all about the Communist Party and the Russians in World History class and he wanted so badly to point out that The Party was operating in some ways like the Communist Party. But he didn’t want to scare Mike or discourage what they were doing, so he thought better of it. Instead Jonathan said, “There you go. You’re already doing it. You’re proving my point.”

 

Mike looked up at him quizzically.

 

“You guys are old enough to take care of each other.” Jonathan shrugged and gave Mike what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Will isn’t letting me and Mom take care of him right now. But maybe he’ll let the three of you do it.”

 

Mike looked down. “Doubt it. He blew us off all week.”

 

“Well, it’s just something to think about. I mean, now that you’re all so mature.”

 

Mike smiled at that.

 

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure that he’s going to be excited to see you.” Then Jonathan handed over the packed lunch and the plastic bag with the juice boxes. “And not just because you’re bringing the food.”

 

\---

 

Will Byers swore under his breath when he accidentally brought the hammer down on his own thumb.

 

Again.

 

Castle Byers was mostly done. He was just adding the finishing touches now. And decorating. Will liked this part best. The decorating. He wouldn’t have used that word in front of his Dad, but privately he could admit he liked it.

 

_When I tell Dad about this, if he ever talks to me again, I’m pretty sure I’ll focus on the designing and building aspects of it_. _Not the decorating._

 

But the structure was done. Jonathan had helped him with that. Although Will’s design was sound, Jonathan had been a big help to make it better. All that was left now were the little touches. Laying out his “living space” and setting up things to make it feel more like home.

 

There were some empty places along the walls, where more sticks could be filled in, which was what Will was trying to do now. You could just criss-cross long sticks and branches along the supports, and if you pressed them into the ground far enough, they would mostly stay in place. But even in the mild weather they had experienced since Tuesday, some of them got uprooted or shifted around, so Will was trying to nail them into place along the support boards to make them more tightly packed and permanent.

 

Unfortunately he kept missing the nail and hitting his thumb and finger. It was really a two person job. One to hold the branch in place and one to hammer. He and Jonathan had done the others together and Will had collected some more branches and cut them to the right length to try to fill in some of the gaps in the “walls”.

 

Will tried again, but the hammer hit the nail at an angle and the nail split the branch, sending a small shower of splinters to the ground.

 

Will sighed and thought, _Maybe I should wait for the guys to get here._

 

Will hadn’t seen or talked to any of The Party since Tuesday in school.

 

_It’s the longest I’ve gone without seeing or talking to one of them in like . . . **ever**._

 

Will had so many warring impulses inside him this whole week. And some small part of them had to do with Castle Byers. Part of him wanted the guys here to help him, knowing that doing it together would be more fun. But a bigger part of him wanted them here only after it was complete, so he could say, “Look at what me and my brother made.”

 

That way he wouldn’t have to deal with Mike trying to take ownership of it for The Party or Lucas and Dustin arguing about all the ways it **_could_** have been designed to be more structurally sound. That was partially the reason why the one sign he **_had_** made declared his ownership of the place.

 

Will let the splintered branch, now useless, fall to the ground outside the structure. He rounded the front and looked at the sign Jonathan had put up above the door which proudly declared: “Home of Will the Wise”. Will smiled to himself and pushed aside the old bedsheet they had put up as a “door” and went inside.

 

Will nodded, pleased at the arrangement which was laid out like a miniature version of his bedroom. He collapsed onto the old sleeping bag which covered the pallets, and turned the wood into a makeshift couch or bed. He laid back and stared up into the sky through the partially covered “roof”. The roof was more boards and branches, but Jonathan had the idea they wouldn’t remove all the other smaller branches and leaves on the roof, like they did with the branches lining the walls. This meant that the branches up there intermingled and criss-crossed in a way that blocked out the sun and the elements in a satisfying manner. It was like when Bilbo and the Dwarves were so deep in Mirkwood they couldn’t even see the sky anymore. But this was actually better, since it still allowed Will to lay there and glimpse parts of the sky in little blue patches between the dark wood.

 

As Will rested there and looked up at the sky, he let his eyes unfocus. Little patches of light turned into fuzzy triangles and trapezoids of brightness, almost like shards of glass.

 

It brought back to his mind something he’d been thinking about all week. The time the window in his room had been broken.

 

It had been last summer. Before he and Jonathan had gone on that hunting trip with Dad. Will had been in his bedroom laying on the end of his bed and looking out the window at the powerful summer storm. Will hadn’t been tired, and although he was supposed to be asleep, he had been content to lay in the dark and listen to the wind whip through the trees and watch the amazing bursts of lightning dancing across the sky.

 

And just when he was entering that semi-hypnotized state between being fully awake and dozing, the wind had whipped a tree branch into Will’s window and sent glass flying.

 

The sound had been explosive, making Will’s eyes go wide, instantly alert. Will had sat up, his breathing ragged. The shock of it, the unexpectedness of it all, held Will in a grip of inaction. He didn’t cry out. He didn’t leap to stop the rain from coming in. Will just sat there, silent, and leaned slightly over the end of the bed, taking in the piece of the branch and the shards of glass spread all over his floor, as the wind flung rain into his room. Will had been mesmerized, staring at the cold and grey fragments of glass on the floor, intermittently changing from dark, dangerous shards, to bright, contoured jewels when the lightning lit up the sky.

 

Will had thought about that night so often this week, returning to it again and again.

 

On Wednesday, when he and Jonathan had stayed home from school, Will had spent most of the day in bed. He was feeling sick, that much was true. But he thought now that he had been in some sort of shock. The announcement from his Mom that Dad was moving out and that they were breaking up was a surprise to Will. As shocking and unprecedented as a branch bursting through his bedroom window.

 

But contrary to the broken window, which had seemed equally surprising to all of the Byers family when it happened, Will felt like he was the only one in the family surprised by his Dad moving out.

 

And maybe it was stupid to be surprised. It’s not like Will hadn’t heard of divorce. There were kids at school whose parents were separated or divorced. Will knew that. But it seemed like it was something that **_existed_** but that only happened to **_other_** people.

 

Like how one of the horse-obsessed girls in his class asked for a pony for her birthday and then got one. She got a pony. For her **_birthday_**. So, that **_could_** happen. In the world. But it wasn’t an actual possibility in Will’s reality.

 

Will could admit that his family wasn’t perfect, and that there were times when things were awkward, or scary or frustrating. But Will still assumed his family would always be there.

 

_I just never thought I could **lose** a member of my family. That seems as impossible as a birthday pony._

 

So Will had let himself be stunned and inactive all of Wednesday. Avoiding contact with his family and turning off the comms, when the Party started to reach out after school. Eventually they started to call, but Will realized that he had nothing to say and no desire to speak to them. Once he talked to them, and had to tell them about this, to explain it, to answer their many questions, it would be **_real_**.

 

And Will didn't want it to be real.

 

So he ignored their calls and didn’t pick up the phone, not even when Jonathan started answering the phone and tried to hand it off to him.

 

Will hoped it would be better on Thursday.

 

But Thursday came and Will still felt unable to function. That’s when he started to think of himself as that windowpane, broken by the storm.

 

Shattered.

 

Broken beyond all hope of repair.

 

Not all of him. And not physically. But something deep inside of him. Something which was crucial for walking through his daily life. Something required to keep the tears at bay. The tears were so close to the surface all week that he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to keep them from leaking out at the most embarrassing times.

 

On Thursday night around the dinner table Will had to listen to Jonathan making plans to return to school the next day and to Mom gently badgering him to do the same. That was when the anger had returned so strongly.

 

It was there the first night. In the background. This hatred of how this whole new situation, this new life, could just be **_imposed_** on him. He had no say in it. No ability to contribute to the decision making process. To register his objections. To get out his Veto stamp and put a halt to this nonsense.

 

But he understood now that this **_had_** been decided. And it wasn’t going to be reversed. Worst of all there was nothing he could do. There was no fixing it. He felt so powerless, so useless.

 

And he was so mad at the rest of his family. He was shattered into a bunch of jagged little pieces and they were going on as if nothing had happened. They looked at him like they didn’t understand why he couldn’t just sweep the pieces of his dreams for their family into the trash and just **_get on with it_**.

 

And Will had tried, he had told them he thought he would go to school on Friday too. He would just sweep the fragments away and go back to school. But that morning all Will could think about was crying in class. While saying the pledge. In the lunch line. Anywhere. He just kept picturing himself bursting into tears and running to the boy’s bathroom.

 

And he couldn’t stand that. That could **_not_** happen. Will’s shock and sorrow as a reaction to Dad’s leaving only proved Dad had been right all along. The reason Will knew in his heart that Dad had left, was that Will was such a crushing disappointment - such a crybaby girly-boy.

 

_And if my main reaction to Dad leaving is to lose my shit in public, then that only proves that Dad was right all along. About me._

 

So Will had stayed home on Friday too, and tried to nurse the reaction that he thought his Dad **_would_** have endorsed.

 

Will fed his anger. At himself. At Mom. At Jonathan. At the world.

 

And it didn’t make any sense. Will realized that now as he lay in Castle Byers, wallowing in his memories. His Dad’s anger was something Will was scared of. It was something that Will had always hoped and prayed had an end to it. Had an expiration date stamped somewhere on it. But Dad’s anger ended up being bottomless and endless.

 

But Will had done it anyway, nursed his anger all day yesterday. And then today he had jabbed at Jonathan. Picked and prodded him, trying to start a fight. Then he could yell his feelings of hurt and betrayal at Jonathan rather than crying them out. And that had worked, to an extent. But when Will’s anger really got unleashed, he cried anyway. Will didn’t know what it was inside him that made him that way, but whenever he got angry enough to be cold or mean or to raise his voice, the tears came too. Like confronting that much anger, even if it came from within, was just so upsetting to Will that he couldn’t help but cry even as he shouted.

 

Will hated that about himself.

 

Will’s vicious cycle of recrimination and self-loathing was interrupted when he heard voices approaching. One of them was pitched too low in volume to make out. The other Will would know anywhere.

 

_Jonathan_.

 

He recognized Jonathan’s voice. Of course he did. It was impossible, unthinkable not to. Will felt like he had been born already knowing Jonathan. Already needing him. And that was what hurt Will so much. That this person Will thought he knew so well could be happy and content in a situation that had busted Will into a million pieces.

 

_And I still need him, no matter what happened this morning._

 

Will’s impulse was to get up and go to Jonathan, to try to explain, to apologize for everything he said earlier. To try to make things right.

 

But he didn’t. Will had meant what he said. He hadn’t been feigning hurt or pretending to be angry. Will **_was_** hurt and he **_was_** angry.

 

_And afraid_ , Will admitted to himself.

 

When Jonathan had admitted he didn’t claim Dad as family any more, Will’s already emotionally frenzied thoughts had spun out of control with fear.

 

_What if there's something about me that Jonathan doesn’t like? That’s different? That’s not normal? Is he going to just throw me away, too?_

 

So Will had demanded an answer to what those things might be. What he might do or say or **_be_** that would get him thrown on the burn pile. And that was what kept Will from going to Jonathan right then.

 

The fear that Jonathan would answer that question.

 

Lucas always said that it was usually best in life never to ask a question you might not like the answer to. That some things might be better left unknown. Then Dustin would jump in and argue that it was better to know the answer, even if it wasn’t what you hoped for.

 

But Will thought he sided with Lucas on this one. Will certainly wished he had thought of that this morning before demanding Jonathan give him an itemized list. Because now Will was afraid of the answer to that question almost as much as he was afraid of losing Jonathan.

 

_It’s so crazy that I started this week being sure I could never lose a member of my family_ , Will thought.

 

_And now I may have lost two._

 

\---

 

Joyce reached into the cupboard and pulled down two of the wine glasses they rarely used, inspecting them quickly to make sure she didn’t have to rinse dust off of them prior to using them.

 

“So what did Donald say?” asked Karen.

 

“He said that at first he was worried that I was going to give my notice.”

 

“Which you were, in a way.”

 

“Kind of. I told him my situation straight up and said that I would have to look for another job unless he could promise me full time hours, some benefits, and a raise. Otherwise I would have to start looking.”

 

“Well,” shrugged Karen, opening the wine, “you kind of had him over a barrel there. I mean everyone else he has is so . . . unreliable.”

 

Joyce knew that Karen’s pause was used to find the right polite word. All the other part time employees at Melvald’s were very young and they never stayed very long. But Karen would never focus on age in this instance. Reliable was the kind word for what Joyce was in comparison, instead of older.

 

_Yeah, you have to be pretty **reliable** to be a middle aged woman still working retail_, Joyce’s mean internal voice hissed, trying to ruin her triumphant tale. But Joyce pushed away her dark thoughts and continued, “But in the end he gave me the full time hours and the raise. A small one, but I got it.”

 

Karen nodded along, sharing in Joyce’s small victory. “You deserve it. You’re basically managing that store for him as it is. Are you getting any back-pay?”

 

Joyce shook her head. “No way, Donald’s too cheap for that. But the new hours and new wage both start Monday, and he says I’ll be eligible for some sort of health insurance after working full time for three months.”

 

Joyce handed Karen the two glasses and Karen eagerly started to pour.

 

Joyce continued, “And that is very good news, because I don’t know how much money I’ll be getting from Lonnie, since I found out he lost his job.”

 

Karen pursed her lips and looked down as she was pouring, making it look like she was concerned she would spill if she didn’t pay strict attention. She said, “I had heard that.”

 

_Of course you did_ , Joyce thought, _Other people’s bad news always seems to travel fast in Hawkins_.

 

Still not looking up, Karen asked, “Is that why you asked him to go?”

 

Joyce shook her head. “No. I didn’t even know he had lost that job at the time.”

 

Karen looked up then. “So did you have a big fight or something?”

 

Joyce continued shaking her head. “Not really. I think we both knew it was over for a while now. We were just going through the motions. And sometimes not even that.”

 

“Did he at least apologize or beg you to reconsider?”

 

Joyce wanted to laugh at that, even though she knew it wasn’t funny. Not really. But she couldn’t really picture Lonnie begging or pleading for anything. Ever.

 

“No. I think he was ready to go. Maybe the job thing helped with that. I don’t know.”

 

“Where did he even go?”

 

Joyce did smile then, ruefully, and replied using finger quotes. “The only thing he told me is that he was staying ‘in the city’ with ‘a friend’.”

 

“Could that **_be_** more vague?”

 

“I’m sure I’ll get more information eventually, but for now I couldn’t contact him even if I wanted to.”

 

“That way he gets all the power back,” observed Karen, as she handed one glass and the open bottle of wine over to Joyce. She picked up her own glass and followed Joyce out into the living room.

 

As Joyce set the bottle and her glass on the coffee table near the couch, she watched as Karen sipped her wine and gravitated to the small mantle where a bunch of framed photos stood. Joyce watched as Karen focused on the photo of Lonnie and Joyce on their wedding day. Joyce felt it was pretty natural of Karen to focus on that one, but didn’t really want to talk about her wedding. Not today.

 

Karen must have felt Joyce’s eyes on her though, because she moved down the row looking at the other pictures until she could find one she could comment on that didn’t involve Lonnie. She didn’t have to look far. She settled on one with Mike and Will, both with towels tied around their necks who were hugging on either side of the patient Chester, who also had a towel around **_his_** neck. Karen picked it up as she sipped.

 

“Aw, look. They were so little.” She tilted her head. “What are they doing to that poor dog?”

 

Playing at some sort of super-hero story, Joyce knew. And Chester was supposed to be Krypto, or the Bat-Hound or something.

 

“Just playing,” Joyce said, a slight smile coming to her lips as she picked up her own glass and moved slowly towards the mantle herself.

 

“That dog is a saint to put up with that nonsense.”

 

“Not really.” Joyce chuckled softly, “The towel never stayed on for long, and then when it fell off and they tried to get it away from him, Chester would hold it in his jaws and play tug-of-war, not wanting to give it up.” Joyce sighed and then absently added, “We lost more towels that way.”

 

“I bet they loved it though.”

 

“They did. They laughed and laughed.” Joyce paused then, thinking of Will and how far away he felt all week. “They used to laugh all the time back then.”

 

Karen turned to face Joyce then. “I think they still do. I can hear them sometimes when they think I can’t.” Karen turned back to the mantle and replaced the picture with exaggerated care. “They still laugh, Joyce. They do.” Karen paused then and added, “Maybe just not so much this week.” Karen sighed. “This week Mike has been so agitated. Angry even.”

 

Joyce clucked sympathetically.

 

“He gets this determined look on his face. His mouth sets in this grim little line, and I swear, he looks like a tiny adult. I think if I hadn’t stopped him, he would have ridden over here and pounded on your door until the boys let him in. No matter how sick they were.”

 

Karen shot Joyce an apologetic look. “And I know he was calling here all the time. I tried to explain to him how this was a very upsetting time and that you guys had a **_lot_** more to be thinking about than him, but eventually I just had to ban him from using the phone. “

 

“It’s no problem, really. Normally it wouldn’t be a big deal at all, except that Will has just retreated into himself. He’s not really talking to anyone.” Joyce shrugged. “I just can’t understand it.”

 

Karen pointlessly fussed with the frame, moving it minutely to change the angle. “Sometimes I wonder if we protect them too much.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“We shelter them too much, maybe. It makes things scarier for them and more surprising than they should be.”

 

Joyce didn’t think she liked where this was going, so she took a sip of the wine which she hadn’t even wanted in the first place and asked softly, “Meaning?”

 

“Meaning that there have been . . .” Karen raised her eyebrows and sipped, apparently searching in the Chardonnay for the right word. “Issues. There have been issues in your marriage for a long time. You and Lonnie knew that. Even I knew that. So to you, it’s been one little thing after another and building for years. But I know how you are, and I do the same thing, we protect the kids from the harsh realities of life sometimes.”

 

Joyce remembered Karen’s own difficult time last fall and realized that it was true.

 

_We hide the truth from them all the time. Like adult problems cannot be exposed to the kids. Like every moment for them has to be like the picture perfect Holiday cards that Karen sends out._

 

Joyce nodded. “So to us this had been a long time coming, but to him it’s more of a surprise.”

 

“Yes.” Karen turned to look fully at Joyce as she was speaking as if she hoped that her reassuring tone and smile could blunt the stark observation contained in her words. “Maybe the first time he’s realizing there may be a real problem in his parent’s marriage is also the time it seems to be over.”

 

Joyce felt the breath go out of her in a rush. The realization that this could be true felt awful.

 

_Is that what it feels like to Will? That one bad thing can erase years of marriage? Or worse, like we just got up one day and out of nowhere made this decision on a whim?_

 

Joyce didn’t want to believe that this was a surprise to the boys. Jonathan had outright said that he wasn’t surprised. But even if this did come as a surprise to Will, would Joyce have wanted things to be different?

 

_Would the idea of Will sitting there and carefully recording the fractures in our marriage make me feel better?_

 

Joyce imagined him in glasses with a white coat and clipboard, sitting on the couch when she told them Dad had left, simply checking a box on a form, and saying something like, “All the signs were there. It was a long time coming.”

 

_No, that wouldn’t be any better_.

 

Joyce felt her eyes mist over and wished she could blame the wine. She turned away from Karen, and found herself face to face with her own wedding picture.

 

The girl in that picture seemed like a child to Joyce now. Someone who was playing dress up, pretending to be a “wife,” and a “bride”.

 

_Pretending to be an adult_ , Joyce thought. _And I kept pretending even though most days I felt the same as I did when I was fourteen._ Joyce brought the glass to her lips and took a long drink this time. _But somewhere along the line it wasn’t pretend anymore. Somehow I became an adult. And I don’t even know when. It wasn’t when we got married. Was it when I had Jonathan? Or was it way more mundane than that? Was it just the first time the toilet stopped up and there was no one around to fix it but me?_

 

Karen moved closer and looked at the wedding picture again. She got a wistful look on her face and was slowly shaking her head as if in disbelief. She said. “More than our names have changed since that day, huh?”

 

Joyce nodded automatically, still lost in thought, but it was true enough. Karen had come to the wedding, and back then both Joyce and Karen had different names than they did now.

 

_What the hell am I going to do about my name?_ thought Joyce, in an inner panic about yet another thing that hadn’t even occurred to her yet. _Am I going to go back to my maiden name?_

 

Joyce took another gulp of the wine and reached out a finger to touch the picture of her young face, framed by her hair and the sides of her veil. And when she spoke it was softly, like she didn’t intend to speak the words aloud at all.

 

“Where did the time go? I feel so old now.”

 

“You’re not old, Joyce.”

 

“No. I think I am. I feel it now. The same things we used to make fun of.”

 

Karen tilted her head, more curious than concerned. “What do you mean?”

 

“The whole idea of a mid-life crisis. The balding men who get a bright red sports car.”

 

Karen smiled. “We used to call them penis-mobiles.”

 

Joyce tittered then, and whether it was the wine or just her state of mind, she didn’t know, but Joyce was aware that she sounded just short of hysterical. She continued, “Or the women who keep trying to shop in the Young Miss stores when even the clerks who work there on commission want to point them over to Sears instead.”

 

Karen was laughing now too. “Like Marcie Kendrick.”

 

Joyce continued her rant, “The whole idea of a mid-life crisis seemed completely crazy and nonsensical to me when we were younger . . .” Joyce trailed off and downed the rest of her wine, seeking liquid courage for some thoughts she wasn’t sure she should say aloud.

 

Joyce wasn’t looking at Karen anymore, she directed her next words to the image of herself on her wedding day. Her voice was soft now, almost accusing, “And now I wake up and the urge to blow up my life and start over gets stronger and stronger every day. Is this break up with Lonnie just a symptom of that?”

 

Joyce finally turned back to Karen and asked, almost pleading, “Is me breaking up with Lonnie **_my_** mid-life crisis?”

 

Karen had the decency not to look away. But she lacked the courage to fully answer Joyce’s question. Karen simply said in a matter-of-fact tone, “You’re not in your mid-life, Joyce.”

 

Then Karen gently pried the wine glass out of Joyce’s hand and moved towards the table by the couch to get them refills.

 

As Karen did this, Joyce watched Karen and struggled not to roll her eyes.

 

The dark voice in Joyce’s head wanted to ask Karen, _Just how long are you planning on living, Karen? I mean, math is math, and even someone who works retail can divide by two._

 

Instead, Joyce abandoned her wedding picture and mirrored Karen’s actions from before. She moved down the mantle’s “memory lane” trying to find a picture that wouldn’t make her angry or sad.

 

She stopped on a picture that had always been one of her favorites. Jonathan and Will from years ago around Halloween.

 

The middle of the shot was the pumpkin they had carved together. Jonathan had never minded scooping out the “guts” of the pumpkin, but Will found it upsetting and “gross,” at least when he was younger. Jonathan had always loved to collect the pumpkin seeds so Joyce could drizzle oil on them with some garlic salt and cook them in the oven until they were a crisp and tasty snack. A Halloween treat prior to all that free candy. But the side effect, which Jonathan also loved, was to cover his hands with the orange goopy “guts” of the pumpkin and torment Will by threatening to touch him with his “guts hands”.

 

The picture captured the neatly carved pumpkin in the foreground with Jonathan behind it reaching over at Will with “guts hands” and Will shrieking and ducking away. But they were both smiling **_just_** enough to show that this was more a game than a bullying older brother at work.

 

Normally looking at those faces, Jonathan cackling maniacally, and Will edging out of frame with a strange mixture of delight and fright crossing his face, would be enough for Joyce to tilt her head to one side and smile in remembrance.

 

But this time, all she could focus on was the pumpkin. Carved up. Maybe over carved, so it looked like it was sinking into itself just a little. The ridges of the pumpkin looking like wrinkles of a sort.

 

_That’s me_ , Joyce thought. And she really wasn’t sure if it was the dark voice inside her or not. Even if it was, it felt true at that moment.

 

_That’s me. More than the Wedding photo._

 

_Joyce Byers. Hollowed out. Carved up._

 

_By Lonnie. By Melvald’s._

 

_By life._

 

\---

 

Mike Wheeler approached Castle Byers slowly.

 

He was loaded down with his backpack and the lunch bags. And he was taking his time to have a good look at Castle Byers.

 

But the real reason for his dawdling, was that he was nervous to see Will.

 

It made no sense, Mike knew. This was the one thing he wanted all week. To see or talk to Will. And now that he was mere steps from where he knew Will was, his feet slowed down.

 

While his mind sped up.

 

Hundreds of thoughts ran through his mind. Most of them made no sense at all.

 

The ones that kept popping up again and again were probably the only two that really mattered at the moment.

 

_Is he mad at me?_

 

_Am I still mad at **him**?_

 

Mike knew the answer to the second question at least.

 

_Of course I’m still mad at him, at least a little._

 

Mike had been mad at Will most of the week.

 

Not at first. Not until he realized that Will was actively blowing them all off. Avoiding them. Ignoring the walkie-talkie. Refusing the come to the phone.

 

In Mike’s mind, there were definitely times when Will failed him as a friend. Not very often. Rarely in fact. Normally Will was his go to. His partner in crime. His first and longest friend. But every once in a while, Will failed to be the type of friend that Mike needed.

 

_So am I still mad at him? The answer is “yes”. And he knows it bothers me. Will knows **for a fact** that it bothers me when he doesn’t keep in touch._

 

_So I guess the question isn’t “am I still mad at him?” but instead, “am I horrible for **being** mad at him at all?”_

 

Mike sighed as he approached the structure, because he thought the answer to this question was also “yes”.

 

All week, Mike was mad and he knew his anger turned him snappish and whiny. In his head Mike knew it wasn’t fair to feel that way, that Will was going through something Mike could barely understand. But the truth was, Mike’s emotions were getting the better of him all week. The rational part of Mike knew this wasn’t fair and that his reaction wasn’t reasonable. He knew this even before Lucas and Dustin took care to point it out to him, but in Mike’s heart he wanted to yell at Will to “just pick up the damn comms.”

 

At one point, just before Mom had taken the comms away, he had yelled exactly that in his most frustrated tone, and then after a glare from Lucas, followed it up with a polite “over” in what he thought of as his “tiny voice”.

 

Mike knew that his attitude and actions this week didn’t do him any favors with his folks, either. Mom was at her wits end and had basically banned him from the comms **_and_** the phone **_and_** told him he was not to go to the Byers house uninvited.

 

Eventually Mom had become so annoyed, she suggested that Mike needed somewhere else to put his restless energy. Meaning to get away from her. So he did.

 

Luckily Mike still had Lucas and Dustin and they were more than eager to help him keep busy with little projects. The most obvious had been to divvy up all the work Will missed. Lucas jumped at the chance to really organize all of Will’s assignments and divide them up between the three of them to make sure everything would get done. And once Jonathan had invited them over for today and let slip about the existence of Castle Byers, Dustin had come up with a plan for them all to get Will some things for Castle Byers. That had taken up some time too.

 

Lucas and Dustin had done one other thing for Mike. They made him feel less crazy. His Mom acted like Mike’s reaction was completely uncalled for and not normal. But at least Dustin and Lucas agreed that Mike had a point. Mike wasn’t the only one Will was ignoring. And they agreed to address it with Will. But they made Mike promise to wait until they were all together, so they could figure out what was really up with Will and if it was the “right time” to bring it up. And Dustin was pretty direct with Mike that he should let Dustin and Lucas do the talking, “So **_you_** don’t yell at him.”

 

Mike took inventory. _So I **am** still mad at him. And that’s horrible. And I **know** it’s horrible. And I will **not** let it show on my face or in my voice. _

 

_But that doesn’t answer the other pressing question,_ “ _Is Will mad at **me**?”_

 

It was possible, Mike knew. One of the only real fights they’d ever had when they were little was about Will’s Dad. At least partly. And Mike could see a possibility that Will could be mad at Mike for never really liking him, or calling him names, or wishing he would just leave them alone. And what Jonathan said did **_not_** help. Jonathan made it sound like Will was mad at anyone that wasn’t sad that his dad was gone. And Mike definitely fit into the “not sad” category.

 

Mike was almost to Castle Byers now. He would have to call out soon, or it would be weird. He took one last amazed look at the structure, taking it in.

 

It seemed huge. Like a team of workmen would have been needed to build it. Mike was always amazed by people who were crafty and handy. Anyone who could make things or fix things fascinated Mike. He wished he was like that.

 

Mike had a wild imagination, everyone said so, even though not all of them meant it as a compliment. But one of the best things about Will was that he could imagine things into being. Will had always had a talent for imagining things into the real world, somehow. In his drawings, in the snow, in the Sinclair’s sandbox, and even with blanket forts. And now in the form of Castle Byers.

 

Mike had heard of kids that had a treehouse, or a swing set or a playhouse in their yards, but those were mostly bought pre-fabricated and were always put together by the adults. This was something the Byers boys built themselves.

 

It was impressive.

 

Mike smiled to himself as he read the sign up on top. “Home of Will the Wise”.

 

Somehow Will’s use of his character name from their endless D&D campaigns put Mike more at ease.

 

_What am I worried about?_ he thought. _This is Will. I’m not going to have to **try** to be nice to him. Just seeing this place, which is **so** Will, and I already have a smile on my face._

 

And all at once, fear of Will being mad faded away, and Mike was just eager to see his friend again. With his hands full, it didn’t make sense to knock, and he could sense movement on the inside of Castle Byers, so he called out, his voice betraying his excitement. “Will are you there? It’s me, Mike.”

 

\---

 

Will pushed aside the bedsheet that served as a door, and gave Mike a shy smile and said, “Welcome to Castle Byers.”

 

Will had watched Mike approach through the gaps in the walls. He was initially surprised that Jonathan peeled off and turned back towards the house, but then remembered that he had asked Jonathan to keep his distance.

 

Mike shot him a broad smile and said, “This is amazing, Will,” as he continued to move towards Will, lifting his arms as he came.

 

Will interpreted this movement as the preface to a hug so he stepped out of Castle Byers and moved towards Mike while lifting his own arms.

 

In short order, Will understood his mistake. Mike was not moving in for a greeting, he was lifting the bags he had in his arms.

 

Mike said, “I come to Castle Byers bearing gifts of food.”

 

Will was embarrassed, but adjusted quickly and reached out for the paper sack and plastic bag.

 

“Courtesy of your Mom,” Mike concluded with a satisfied nod.

 

Will took the bags and Mike slung his backpack off his shoulders. Will thought for a minute that things were turning awkward, but as usual, Mike kept talking rather than let that happen.

 

Mike continued, “I swear it looks just like your drawing, but better.” Mike continued to survey Castle Byers. He gestured, “With the branches and leaves up top and the tarp in back. Next time we camp out, we won’t even need a tent.”

 

Will smiled to himself. Mike seemed genuinely impressed and it was nice that the first real visitor to Castle Byers was so complimentary. Mom had visited of course, but she didn’t count. And Chester was not the conversationalist that Mike was, and had only pissed on the largest log on the outside front corner of the Castle.

 

Will hefted the lunch bags. “I should set these down. You wanna see the inside?”

 

“Hell yeah.”  Mike gestured Will forward. “Lead on, Will the Wise.”

 

Will led his friend inside and set the food down on the little wooden bench he set up beside the pallet-bed. It was in the place of where Will’s bedstand was in his bedroom. Will shrugged and said in explanation, “This way the food isn’t on the ground.”

 

“Good thinking. But maybe unnecessary. I think Dustin would eat it anyway.”

 

Will grinned and Mike lifted his backpack. “That reminds me, they’re probably on their way.” Mike gestured to the pallet-bed as if seeking permission and Will gave him his best “we don’t stand on ceremony here at Castle Byers” look and flopped down himself, signaling Mike to join him.

 

Mike sat down with a huff and crossed his legs and started to dig around in his backpack. He pulled out the walkie-talkie, and Will stiffened and thought, _Here we go. He’s going to give me a sarcastic lesson in how to properly use the Supercom. This’ll be his way of getting back at me for not picking up._

 

Will had been expecting something. A lecture, a scowl, or at least a hearty “you suck!” directed his way from Mike. But nothing like that came. Mike simply turned on the comms, extended the antenna fully and tuned it to the party channel. He hit the squawk button a couple times to test and make sure it was working. Then he smiled at Will. “They’ll radio when they’re close, and we can guide them in. That way they won’t interrupt our Moms . . .”

 

Mike trailed off then and mimed like he was lifting a jug to his lips. He made a “glug, glug” sound effect in his throat and wavered back and forth like he was drunk. He ended this master performance with an exaggerated but authentic “hiccup” sound.

 

Will frowned at Mike and said reproachfully, “Mike, our Moms are not drunks, or something.”

 

Mike chuckled. “I know. It’s not like she brought the bottles in a paper sack, like a wino.” Mike put his pinkie finger out, sat up straight, and put on his best refined upper crust face. “We Wheelers carry our hooch in proper canvas bags we got from donating to PBS.”

 

Will laughed, but also rolled his eyes slightly. Mike was forever talking about “winos” and “vagrants” and “hobos” as if there was any such thing in Hawkins. Which there definitely wasn’t. Mike got those terms, along with “hooch” from cartoons, and comics, and the old timey comedy routines he and Dustin thought were so hilarious.

 

“Anyway,” Mike said, coming back to his normal voice and pulling out a pad of paper, “I made directions from the tree swing. And we can talk them in.”

 

Mike set the pad next to the comms and, as he shifted, Will got a better look inside Mike’s open backpack. Will tilted his head and asked, “Is that a sword hilt?”

 

Mike looked sheepish for a moment and then smiled. “Yeah. It’s one of your gifts.”

 

“My gifts?”

 

“Yeah. After Jonathan invited us and told us about Castle Byers, Dustin said we should get you some ‘Castle-warming’ gifts.”

 

Will chuckled. “That sounds like him.”

 

“Okay, well you have to laugh when he says it.” Mike dug around in his backpack and extracted the plastic sword. “You can’t let him know I spoiled his little joke.”

 

“ ** _Very_** little joke,” Will muttered under his breath.

 

Mike gave Will an appraising look, “That was basically how Lucas reacted too. But since you’re getting presents out of it . . . “

 

“I promise I’ll laugh.”

 

“I know you’re a wizard, but every castle needs weapons to defend it.” Mike swung the toy sword around clumsily. “Maybe you’ll find some knight to help you defend the castle.”

 

_Or a Paladin_ , thought Will.

 

Mike continued his musings. “An Arthur to your Merlin. Anyway, that’ll just be fun to play around with.” Mike patted his backpack with a knowing nod. “I’ve got the real weapon you need right here.”

 

Will had no clue what Mike meant, so just raised his eyebrows, curious.

 

Mike set the sword down and pulled out a plastic fly-swatter and brandished it about with way more enthusiasm than he had with the sword. “Handed down from father to son for generations.”

 

Will smiled at Mike fondly then. Mike did not like bugs, so it wasn’t **_that_** surprising that he held more animosity towards real life bugs than he did against make believe orcs and dragons.

 

“Thanks Mike.”

 

Then Will reached over and plucked a nail from the box and the little hammer he had been using and handed them over to Mike. “Might as well make a hook for this important historical artifact.”

 

Mike perked right up, grabbed the tool, and turned away to hammer the nail into one of the support boards behind him. As Will watched Mike stick his tongue out between his lips in concentration, he was surprised at how Mike’s crap hammering made his own look professional in comparison. When Mike was done, he hung the fly swatter in its place of honor and turned to give Will an absurdly pleased look, as if he was impressed with himself.

 

Will suppressed a snicker, and decided Mike could hold the sticks and **_he_** would do the hammering. His still-sore thumb throbbed in agreement. He didn't want Mike maiming himself with his eager, but minimal carpentry skills. So Will held his hand out for the hammer.

 

“You want to come outside and help me hammer in some more of the walls?”

 

Mike handed back the hammer. “Sure. Just show me what you need me to do.”

 

They went outside and Will had Mike hold the long branches in place while Will nailed them to the support boards. Will was surprised to find Mike seemed content to work in silence. This was fine with Will, and he let the silence extend to see how long Mike could last before he had to say something.

 

After longer than Will gave him credit for, Mike did break the silence. He held the current stick they were working on in place, and softly asked, “When did he go?”

 

Will continued to hammer, taking great care not to hit his own parts in front of his friend. Will knew there would be questions and he had prepared himself as best he could to answer them. Will replied, “Monday night.”

 

“What did he say?”

 

“Nothing to me. I was asleep.”

 

“Was it a big fight?”

 

“Nope.”

 

_Nothing like that_ , Will thought. _No big fight. It sounded like Dad left home the same way I escape from the bullies at school. With a whimper, not with a shout._

 

“And you haven’t talked to him?”

 

Will swallowed hard. Mike was not making this easy. “Nope.”

 

Will looked at Mike then and stopped hammering. Mike started, “I’m s –“ but cut himself off. It was clear that Mike was about to say that he was sorry, but stopped for some reason.

 

Mike gave him what Will felt was a pitying look and started speaking fast.

 

“That sucks, Will. Tell me what I can do. What can I do to fix it?”

 

This was not unexpected, but it was still annoying nonetheless. One of the things that Will hated about Mike sometimes was that he always wanted to “fix” things.

 

_Even things that can’t be fixed._

 

_Even people._

 

_Even me._

 

Will often felt that Mike’s need to fix things came from a need to control the situation. Even situations that had nothing to do with him. When Will had been upset in the past, sometimes Mike would swoop in trying to “fix” everything. And if Will didn’t immediately cheer up or act “cured” then Mike would sometimes turn awkward and quiet. Will was never sure if Mike was disappointed in himself or disappointed in Will in those moments. It was tiring.

 

Part of Will wanted to scream at Mike: _My emotions can’t be fixed! You can’t talk my feelings away!_

 

Instead he said, “You can’t fix it, Mike.”

 

“So there’s nothing I can do?”

 

“You can help me put the finishing touches on Castle Byers.”

 

“You got it.”

 

Mike let go of the branch that they were finished with and walked over to pick up another one and place it for Will to pound into place.

 

They worked in further silence for a time, before Will found himself wanting to break the silence this time. He searched for something he could say, something good about his Dad that he could use to impress his friend. His mind wandered back to clearing out the shed this morning and his fight with Jonathan.

 

“Dad did leave me the rifle though.”

 

Will instantly regretted it once he said it. The hunting rifle was something he knew he could use to impress or interest Lucas and even Dustin. But Mike was the one person he had told the most about the guys-only weekend hunting trip last fall. Will had not mentioned what Dad had said about his friends, but he had told Mike about how it really was. About missing the shot. And about how Dad made him feel afterwards.

 

Mike was silent for a moment, then asked softly, “The hunting rifle?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That’s cool,” Mike said.

 

Mike said it without much enthusiasm, so Will thought for a moment that he was going to get off with no other commentary from Mike. But then Mike continued.

 

“Will, y’know that you don’t have to be what your **_Dad_** wants you to be, right?”

 

“I know.”

 

“I mean, neither of us do. **_My_** Dad wants **_me_** to be a CEO with my name on the door.”

 

Will looked up at Mike in honest confusion. “What does that even **_mean_**?”

 

Mike shook his head ruefully, and to Will he looked truly deflated when he admitted, “I have **_no_** idea.”

 

And Will couldn’t help but laugh even though Mike looked so dejected.

 

Mike shot him a cross between a glare and a frown – what Will privately thought of as Mike’s “+5 stink face”-- but it only held for second before Mike was laughing too.

 

Their laughter was interrupted by Dustin’s voice blaring over the Supercom. “You guys, we’re here, where are you?”

 

And then Lucas broadcast, “He forgot to say ‘over’. Over.”

 

Will smiled at Mike and started to shake his head as if to say, “not this old routine” and then they both raced for the walkie.

 

\---

 

Karen Wheeler opened the fridge and pulled out the second bottle of wine. Joyce was still in the living room recounting her dream.

 

Generically, Karen thought that listening to people talk about their dreams was as boring and pointless as watching golf. Hence her trip to the kitchen.

 

“And we were outside the dance, talking about John Lennon.”

 

“You and Jimmy Hopper?”

 

“Exactly. So it was part dream and part memory, I guess.”

 

“How so?”

 

“The Beatles were playing in the background, so that was the dream talking. We **_never_** had any good music at the school dances.”

 

Karen nodded in agreement as she brought the bottle back into the living room and poured herself a generous re-fill. “Those dances were the worst. All us girls on one side of the gym, and the guys on the other side, ignoring us. And the dance floor was the empty ‘no-man’s land’ in between.”

 

“And both sides pretending to like the band. And the punch.”

 

“What made you dream of him, anyway? Chief Hopper?”

 

Joyce gave a wistful sigh, and Karen knew that it was maybe the wrong moment for that question.

 

“I have no idea,” Joyce admitted softly.

 

Hopper had left Hawkins years ago, and Karen knew through the grapevine that at some point he had gotten married and had a kid. But then a couple years ago, he had come back to town **_alone_** , and become the Hawkins Chief of Police. Karen was dying to know if Joyce had talked to Hopper recently and if she knew more about his family.

 

_But now is not the time for **that**. I need to change the subject fast, this is sending her back down a maudlin road._

 

So Karen leaned over and topped off Joyce’s glass.

 

Joyce smiled playfully at her then, and raised her glass as if in toast. “Is that why you didn’t bring Holly with you? So we could get plastered?”

 

_No,_ thought Karen, _The wine is for protection. What was that word Mike used?_

 

Earlier in the week, once Mike had heard about Castle Byers, during one tense afternoon after school, he had followed her around bouncing between fretting about his friend and chattering all about Castle defense mechanisms.

 

_What was the word?_

 

_Parapets? No._

 

_Definitely not murder-holes._

 

_Not drawbridges, but related._

 

_Moats! That was it_ , thought Karen in triumph.

 

_Defense mechanisms can work for people too. We can pour this wine around us like a **moat** and if we have enough, **no one** can get us._

 

But she couldn’t say **_that_**.

 

Instead she said, “Let Ted watch Holly for a bit, she’s his kid too.”

 

Joyce raised her eyebrows, and her voice had a little edge to it as she observed, “Plus, Nancy is there, right?”

 

_That was mean,_ Karen thought.

 

But when she thought about it for more than a second, she knew it was also true.

 

_If Nancy wasn’t going to be there all day, I may have thought twice about leaving Holly there alone with Ted._

 

So she allowed herself a sheepish smile and admitted, “Nancy is great with her, I have to admit. It’s nice to be able to get away and not have to worry for an afternoon. Nancy said to ask after Jonathan though. Is he doing okay?”

 

“I don’t know how I could have gotten through this week without him.”

 

_But you don’t sound happy about that_ , Karen thought. She tried, “That’s great, isn’t it?”

 

Joyce started shaking her head immediately. “No. This whole week it’s like I haven’t been a parent to either one of them at all. It’s like Jonathan is parenting me somehow, and Will is this kid who opted out of the real world entirely.”

 

“Joyce, you have to give it some time. This **_just_** happened. Give everyone some time to adjust. Give **_yourself_** some time.”

 

Joyce was nodding along. “I know. But it’s so hard sometimes. Some nights it’s been so overwhelming. I don’t know how to deal with being so heartbroken and devastated and to parent them at that same time.”

 

“It’s okay to show them that. How upset you are. The boys will understand that.”

 

Joyce still had a sad smile, but was tearing up. “How can they? They’re just kids. How can they understand something that **_I_** can’t?”

 

Karen didn’t understand what Joyce was getting at exactly, and it was dangerous to assume what she meant, so she simply asked, “Understand what?”

 

“How could I have loved him so much? Lonnie. At the end, it was like he didn’t even know what love was. Like he didn’t know **_how_** to love.”

 

Karen kept silent. She was desperate to comfort her friend, but it felt like Joyce was still building to something. And Lonnie-bashing was too easy a role for Karen to fall into. She might never get out.

 

“And what is wrong with **_me_**? How can I miss him so much? Even now? Even when I wanted him to go?”

 

Karen reached for the box of tissues on the side table and handed it over to Joyce, who was crying openly now. Karen knew something about what Joyce was feeling. About how you could become overwhelmed by your feelings, but still be self-aware enough to feel like a failure for giving in to them.

 

Last fall after Holly had been born, Karen had a rough time of it. And she had kept it to herself at first. Thinking it was the lack of sleep. Or the hard birth which ended in a C-section that made her feel like her body had been torn in two. But it was more than just the pain and the fatigue. She knew that now.

 

Late one night Holly had been crying and Karen got up, like always, to go deal with her. And nothing had worked. No amount of patting or bouncing or soothing. She didn’t need to be changed and she wouldn’t eat. And Karen didn’t even remember putting Holly back in the crib, still wailing. She didn’t remember sitting down in the corner, in the dark on the floor of the nursery.

 

But that was where Ted found her, who knows how much later, once he finally got annoyed enough with the crying to come investigate. And it was only once Ted had turned on the light and picked up Holly, that he had noticed Karen in the corner, crying and rocking back and forth and murmuring under her breath, “shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up . . . .”

 

Karen had seen her doctor then. And talked to the other Moms. Mrs. Sinclair had called it “the baby blues” and Claudia had referred to the new age term “post-partum depression”. None of them had seemed surprised or shocked. And none of them had judged her at all. They had all pitched in to help.

 

_And Joyce was great_ , Karen recalled. _That’s why I’m here today. To repay that kindness._

 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Joyce. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re feeling. Do you remember last fall when I was so down? What you said to me?”

 

Joyce yanked a tissue from the box and nodded vaguely.

 

“You said that I was acting like I had to face it all alone. In silence.”

 

Joyce was nodding more firmly now, recalling one of their late night phone conversations, “And I pointed out that you didn’t have to be alone. Or suffer in silence.”

 

Karen smiled kindly and nodded. “You’re not alone either, Joyce. You have the whole Mom-Spy Network at your disposal.”

 

Joyce smiled through her tears. “The what?”

 

Karen rolled her eyes. “Claudia says it’s what the boys call all of us.”

 

Joyce chuckled. “Those little shits.”

 

Karen laughed too, but wondered if maybe they weren’t on their way to plastered after all. “Whatever you call us, Joyce, if you need help, we’ll give it to you. Whatever you need.”

 

Joyce wiped at her face again, and asked, “You have some way to make a divorce sound like a good thing to look forward to?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I have to tell the boys that I’m going to have to start saving up for a divorce. Normally when you’re saving up for something, there’s something amazing at the end of it. A new car. A trip to Disney. Got any good ideas for that?”

 

“But there **_is_** a good thing at the end of it, right? If you don’t think that, if you don’t truly believe it, then maybe you shouldn’t be breaking up.”

 

Joyce flinched at that and Karen realized what she said sounded too harsh. She quickly jumped in to keep going. “I mean, has anyone, even **_one_** person who you’ve talked to about this break-up acted like it was a mistake?”

 

Joyce shook her head.

 

“Has anyone even asked ‘why’?”

 

“No.”

 

“There you go. I think you know that this is a good thing, you maybe just don’t know how to say it. To the boys. So try it out on me,”

 

Joyce set down her glass, straightened up, and ran a hand through her hair. “Okay. Here goes. Me and your Dad got to a point where we weren’t ever going to be happy together again. But by being apart we both have a chance to be happy again. That’s what this divorce can give us. All of us. A chance to be happy again.”

 

Karen nodded slowly. “That’ll work. Jonathan and Will are old enough to handle the truth. Tell them that.”

 

Joyce still looked doubtful. “Did you ever tell your kids about your depression?”

 

Karen had not. Maybe she still could, someday.

 

“It’s a different situation.”

 

_And we’re very different people_ , Karen thought.

 

“And you’re stronger than I am, Joyce.”

 

Joyce looked surprised. “You think?”

 

Karen said without hesitation, “I know it.”

 

_One way I know it_ , Karen considered, _is that the idea of going it alone, like you’re about to, fills me with dread._ _If Ted and I were to split up, what on Earth would happen to me then? What would a thirty-something mother of three who hasn’t held a steady job in fifteen years do?_

 

“You’ve always been strong Joyce. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

 

Joyce inhaled deeply and smiled. “Damn right I am.”

 

\---

 

Will smiled and felt a powerful sense of relief as Tiny Marine and Junkyard Santa approached Castle Byers.

 

Lucas was decked out to blend in with the meager forest. He had his bandanna tied tightly, he wore dark pants and a camo tee, and his Dad’s green military duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

 

In some ways Will thought Lucas was even more well put together than Mike. But where Mike was the little preppy lost in the wilderness, about to become a meal for some fearsome predator, Lucas looked and acted like he was a tiny marine on a secret rescue mission.

 

Covered in smoke and dirt from this morning, Will felt sloppy and dirty in comparison to both of them.

 

Will shifted his gaze to Dustin, bringing up the rear, and felt a kinship there. Dustin’s perpetually untied shoelaces were flopping about in the dirt as he walked, and there was a line of dirt across his face. To Will it looked like a branch had brushed across Dustin’s face and left the smudge behind, but with Dustin, you could never be sure. The weird thing was that he had a garbage bag flung over his shoulder like he was Junkyard Santa bringing garbage presents to all the little girls and boys.

 

As soon as Lucas saw Will, the serious look left his face, and he was all smiles as he approached.

 

“Byers! Long time no see.”

 

Lucas drew him into a hug, and Will matched his little back-slaps as usual, but Lucas broke from tradition and held the hug a moment longer than normal.

 

But **_only_** a moment longer, because then Dustin was there, grabbing Lucas by the shoulder and pulling him out of the way to get at Will.

 

“Will!” Dustin cried. He grabbed Will in a huge bear hug and lifted him up and spun him around. If this had been in public, Will was sure he would’ve been embarrassed. But since they were alone, he just marveled at Dustin’s strength and giggled as he was set gently back on his feet.

 

“Hi guys. Thanks for coming.”

 

They all started talking at once, babbling about Castle Byers enthusiastically, greeting Mike, re-living being directed in by Supercom, and on and on. Will wasn’t really listening. He was just basking in the feeling of The Party being back together again. And how nice it felt to be hugged.

 

_Even though I was the one who pushed them away, it feels **so** good to be back together. All of us._

 

Will also realized at that moment that it meant something that out of all of them, Mike had withheld a hug.

 

_Mike is angry, or hurt, or . . . something._

 

Then Dustin and Lucas were directly in front of Will fighting over Lucas’s duffel.

 

“We brought you some stuff. . . “ Lucas started.

 

“Yeah,” Dustin interrupted, “We brought you some Castle-warming gifts.”

 

Dustin smiled wide and wiggled his eyebrows in a decent impression of Fozzie Bear to emphasize his own joke.

 

Will didn’t even have to glance at Mike to know he was currently giving Will a pointed look that said, “insert laugh here!”

 

Will did laugh, and he didn’t have to force it at all. When he finally met Mike’s gaze, he was giggling and shaking his head, which only made Will laugh harder.

 

Lucas gave them both a pained look. “Guys, it’s not **_that_** funny.”

 

“Don’t be jealous of my word-play, Lucas,” smirked Dustin, shooting Lucas an elbow. “You’re funny sometimes too.”

 

“Not on purpose,” Mike said under his breath.

 

“Shut it, Wheeler.”

 

Mike threw up his hands, while Lucas glowered at him.

 

“ ** _Anyway_** ,” Dustin continued, ignoring the other two and digging around in the duffel bag. “I brought you this Dreamcatcher. I thought you could hang it inside.”

 

Will knew Dustin had learned about dreamcatchers and how to make them in a YMCA program called Indian Guides and Princesses. Dustin had hung the one he made in the program above his bed at home. Will had seen it many times before, but this one was slightly different. The color scheme was centered around deep violet and dark blue, and the beads and feathers were dark as well.

 

“Did you make this?” asked Will taking it in hand and looking it over, impressed.

 

“Yep. I made it special for Castle Byers.”

 

“Even though you don’t believe in it,” Lucas huffed.

 

“Hey. I believe it makes a nice decoration. And I do want Will to have good dreams. Even if I don’t believe this will automatically make that happen.”

 

“I love it,” Will proclaimed, trying to short-circuit their squabbling. “Thanks, Dustin.”

 

Lucas looked like he wanted to continue the argument with Dustin. Will knew it was a sore subject between the two. Lucas went to church more regularly than any of the boys, and Dustin was pretty dismissive of religion in general, so it was something they often butted heads over.

 

Lucas tore his disapproving glare away from Dustin, and took his turn rooting around in the duffel. He said, “I got you something to hang up too, but mine is for the outside.”

 

Lucas pulled out an old U.S. Flag with a flourish. “I figured we could make a flagpole and attach it to the Castle.”

 

“That’s a great idea. Thanks, Lucas.”

 

“We’ll have to get a ladder or something,” Mike said, thinking aloud. “To attach it to the roof.”

 

“There’s a step-ladder in the shed,” Will informed them. “I can go get it later.”

 

“I’ll go get it,” Mike volunteered. “I already know everything they brought, and you should show them the inside. I’ll be right back. Need anything else?”

 

Dustin turned from where he was retrieving the large garbage bag and asked, “Got any food back there?”

 

Mike rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to bring back piles of dirty shed food for you, Dustin. I think there’s some canned beets in there from before we were born or the peanut butter Mrs. Byers uses on the rat traps.”

 

“What **_brand_** of peanut butter?” Dustin asked automatically.

 

Mike just rolled his eyes again and stalked off.

 

“My Mom already sent food,” Will told Dustin. “It’s inside.” Then Will turned to look at his remaining friends. “You guys want to see the inside?”

 

“Sure,” Lucas nodded, while gesturing at the garbage bag, “That’s for the inside anyway. Let’s go.”

 

Will held the sheet open and Lucas and Dustin followed him inside. He watched them take it all in, and he could tell they were impressed. Will was filled with pride at that moment. It wasn’t often that he had something cooler or better than his friends. A lot of the time Will felt he didn’t have as much stuff as all his friends, and the stuff he did have was never as nice.

 

At best he had some things that none of his friends had. A brother. A dog.

 

But Will knew he wasn’t responsible for Jonathan or Chester. But Castle Byers was something they didn’t have.

 

_And **I** made it._

 

Lucas and Dustin were still milling about inside, exclaiming softly to each other. Lucas gestured haphazardly across the fort, towards the corner. “What’s under there?”

 

Will, occupied with hanging the dreamcatcher, wasn’t sure where Lucas was pointing. “Under where?”

 

Lucas grinned. ”Ha! I just made you say . . . “

 

Dustin interrupted, slapping one hand across Lucas’s shoulder. “C’mon man, we’re better than **_that_**.”

 

Lucas glared at Dustin, but didn’t continue.

 

Dustin shook the garbage bag eagerly. “Let’s just show him the last gift.”

 

Lucas immediately brightened, and he and Dustin pulled open the bag and dragged out two yellow and brown patterned couch cushions. They were sort of ugly and had a flowered Grandma pattern, but Will’s eyes lit up all the same.

 

“Sweet!” Will exclaimed, grabbing one. “Where did you get these?”

 

“Technically Mike saw them first,” Lucas explained. “Yesterday he told us he was riding his bike by old Mrs. Walgren’s place, and that she had put a couch out on the curb to get rid of it.”

 

Dustin picked up the tale. “So after school me and Lucas went to go check it out and grab the cushions for the fort. Nice find, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

But it made Will wonder. Mrs. Walgren was one of their closest neighbors. She hated the Byers family and always called to complain if Chester went in her yard or messed up her precious “garden”. Will passed by her house every day on the way to school. But there was no reason why Mike would be biking past the Walgren place.

 

_The only thing it’s “on the way” to for Mike is **my** house_, thought Will.

 

Will stared down at the cushion, lost in thought. When he looked up, his friends were both looking at him expectantly. Will made a production of putting the cushion at the “head” of the pallet bed, against the wall of Castle Byers. He then sat down and leaned against it. “Now I don’t have to lean against the wood. My Mom was already complaining that I keep coming back home all ‘filthy’.”

 

Lucas pulled one last thing out of the garbage bag. It was a small piece of wood paneling which looked familiar.

 

Lucas explained, “I asked my Dad about the leftover paneling we had from when they re-did the den, thinking that it could be a great way to line the castle.” Lucas got a disappointed look on his face. “But it turned out there wasn’t that much left.”

 

Dustin grabbed the other Grandma cushion and sat down near Will. He stretched out his legs and put the cushion on them like a little tray or desk. “But Lucas still had a great idea for this little piece.” Dustin made “grabby-hands” at Lucas, and Lucas handed him the small piece of paneling. Dustin put it on top of the cushion, so the smooth side was face up, and announced: “Voila, instant desk. Comfy on your legs, but with a hard top.” Dustin knocked lightly on the paneling. “Perfect for homework.”

 

“Or drawing,” Lucas added, smiling kindly down at Will. Lucas then shot a thumb in Dustin’s general direction. “For those of us not as obsessed with homework as **_some_** people.”

 

“Speaking of homework . . .” Dustin prompted.

 

“Right.” Lucas nodded, digging into his duffel yet again. “We have **_all_** your homework covered, Will.”

 

“We divided it up between the three of us and did it all for you. You just have to copy it out in your own handwriting tomorrow and you’ll be all set for Monday.”

 

Will was touched. “You guys didn’t have to do that.”

 

“Yes we did,” said Lucas seriously. “We all need to get into the same track at Junior High. We need to stay in the same classes.”

 

Dustin agreed. “The Party needs to stay together.”

 

Will was pretty sure that the tracks for Junior High were already decided and that the last month or so of Sixth Grade wouldn’t really change anything. But Will was grateful anyway. “Thanks, you guys.”

 

Will grabbed a tack and the smaller hammer and nailed the worksheets and loose-leaf pages to the wall of Castle Byers.

 

Dustin looked at him appalled, “What are you doing?”

 

“I have to re-copy it anyway, right? And this way it won’t blow away.”

 

Dustin clucked at him and shook his head in dismay.

 

Will shrugged. “I was going to put up some of my artwork later anyway. Besides, my Dad always used to say ‘a man’s home is his Castle’ and he can do whatever he wants with it.”

 

Lucas looked dubious. “But nailing your schoolwork to the wall?”

 

“Dad always says, ‘if it’s your house, you can burn it to the ground if you want’. So. . .” Will shrugged again, but smiled.

 

“Umm, let’s not do that,” cut in Lucas, looking over at the box of matches and the sterno pot to Will’s left. “Let’s **_not_** start a fire in the woods.”

 

Dustin leaned forward over the makeshift cushion-desk and pointed to Will, putting on a Smokey the Bear impression. “Only **_you_** can prevent forest fires.”

 

Lucas turned to Dustin and gave him an annoyed look. “Only **_you_** can do bad impressions.”

 

Dustin leaned back and harrumphed. “That’s not even true. Mike does them all the time.”

 

“Hey!”

 

All three boys turned their heads towards the bedsheet-door.

 

Mike poked his head in past the bedsheet and gave them his put upon look. “Did you guys just spend the whole time I was gone bad-mouthing me?”

 

“Not the **_whole_** time,” Lucas muttered.

 

Dustin took a different approach. He smiled brightly and said, “Sorry, Mike. Sorreee.”

 

Will recognized Dustin’s hyper-cheerful tone as the same one he used to placate Mrs. Henderson all the time.

 

Apparently Mike recognized it too. “Thanks, **_Dusty_** , you wanna get your butt out here and get to work?”

 

“I thought we would eat first,” suggested Dustin hopefully, gesturing to the food bags.

 

Mike just raised an eyebrow at Dustin.

 

Lucas crossed his arms. “We do our chores first and then we get to rest and have the food.”

 

Dustin turned to Will for support. “Will, where’s that Veto stamp you’re always talking about?”

 

Mike fully entered the door frame. “There’s no veto-power in The Party, Dustin.”

 

Dustin made a face at Mike, “There’s no dungeon-master either, bossypants. I thought The Party was a democracy?”

 

“Fine,” sighed Lucas. “I vote we work first.”

 

Lucas looked at Mike who responded quickly, “Work.”

 

Dustin looked over at Will for support and for the potential tie vote.

 

Will rose and said, “Sorry Dustin, I vote to work first too. I’ve been waiting all week for you guys to come and help me.”

 

Will was looking at Dustin as he said this, trying to soften the blow of helping to outvote him. Dustin seemed to take it in stride, but Will heard an intake of breath from the door.

 

“Oh, really?”

 

It was Mike, and his voice was tinged with **_something_**. Will turned to look at him and Mike seemed tense or annoyed. Will didn’t trust himself to speak in that moment so he just nodded.

 

Mike looked away from Will and shot a pointed look at Lucas and then Dustin. Will couldn’t see if Dustin responded in any way, but Mike’s stink-face was suddenly on display. Then Mike took a deep breath, turned to Lucas and asked, “You need some help making that flagpole?”

 

Lucas nodded quickly and glanced over at Dustin, “You’ll help Will?”

 

Dustin shoved the cushion-desk aside and struggled to his feet. He saluted Lucas. “Sir! Yes, sir!”

 

Lucas didn’t react to Dustin’s mild mockery, he just nudged Mike and they both headed out.

 

Will turned to Dustin, sure that the change in Mike’s tone and demeanor was obvious to all. “What was that about?”

 

Dustin just shrugged. “Who knows **_what_** stick Mike has up his ass today?”

 

Will didn’t love the turn of phrase, but Dustin’s delivery **was** funny.

 

Dustin continued, “I swear he and Lucas trade it back and forth depending on the day. Just ignore them, and show me what we’re working on.”

 

So Will did. He had Dustin help with hammering long sticks into one of the Castle Byers walls, while Lucas and Mike took the flag and the step-ladder around the other side to jerry-rig a flagpole. The time passed quickly for Will as Dustin caught him up on all the goings on from school that he missed. Dustin also quickly took over the hammering commenting that maybe Will could use “a break.” Which was a much nicer way of saying something they heard Lucas shouting at Mike a short time later.

 

“You suck at that. Give **_me_** the hammer.”

 

Forty-five minutes later, a pleased sounding Lucas called Will and Dustin back around the front of the fort. Mike was still standing on the step stool and gesturing at the erected flagpole with its newly attached flag blowing in the wind, like he was a hostess showing off the Showcase Showdown on _The Price is Right_.

 

Lucas grinned at Will and Dustin. “Awesome, right?”

 

Will watched Mike mug for them, still gesturing at the flag and making a goofy face, and couldn’t help but smile. He said to Lucas, “Totally awesome.”

 

Dustin shrugged theatrically. “Eh. If I agree can we take a break and eat?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Immediately Dustin slapped on a bright smile, gave Lucas a sarcastic thumbs up, and said in a sing-song happy voice: “That’s an amazing flag stick, chum! You’re the bestest!”

 

Lucas shot Dustin a death look, and then turned back to look at the flag.

 

Mike was no longer gesturing to the flagpole, but stood on the step-stool with a doofy grin and both his arms straight out ending in two thumbs up.

 

“Screw all y’all,” Lucas said with a sigh. “Let’s go eat.”

 

They spent a long time together lounging on the pallet bed and sharing the sandwiches and chips and crackers. Within minutes most of the food was gone and they were sipping their juice boxes and debating what the password should be for Castle Byers.

 

Will had already given this a fair amount of consideration, but wanted to hear what the others thought too. “I know I want to use one of the names of the Istari for the password,” he said.

 

Dustin nodded his approval. “Natch,” he said, still munching on a Ritz cracker, and dropping crumbs everywhere. “Istari means ‘wise ones’ in Elvish and this is the home of ‘Will the Wise’ so . . .”

 

“So, it’s got to be ‘Gandalf’, then right?” asked Lucas.

 

Mike shook his head. “No way, that’s too obvious; it’s the first Wizard you’d think of.”

 

Lucas looked at Mike skeptically. “I think you may be seriously overestimating the Tolkien knowledge in Hawkins. Y’know, outside of us.”

 

“You could always go with Saruman,” suggested Dustin, brushing uselessly at the crumbs on his T-shirt. “His name sounds cool.”

 

Mike was shaking his head emphatically. “Except he turned evil.”

 

Dustin looked over at Will thoughtfully. “You going to change alignment on us, Will the Wise? You feel a bout of chaotic evil coming on?”

 

Will smiled. “No way. Besides, I think Saruman was more lawful evil anyway.”

 

“Like Coach Purpura,” Mike grumped. “Always with the rules and the laps.”

 

Lucas shook his head at Mike’s hatred of all things P.E.-related. “I don’t even know the names of all five of them. The only other one I can think of is . . .”

 

Will smiled, excited, and supplied, “Radagast.”

 

Lucas jumped back in to defend his choice. “No way! Don’t pick Radagast over Gandalf, Radagast is the weird one.”

 

Will felt the smile fall from his face instantly. He felt heat in his cheeks as he snapped, “Screw you, Lucas!”

 

Will was about to go on yelling, when he saw the other three looking at him in various states of surprise. Dustin’s eyes were wide, and Mike sat there slack jawed, a Frito halfway lifted towards his mouth. Will rarely lost his temper and almost never raised his voice at them.

 

Will tried to bring the anger in his voice down a notch. “Maybe it’s a good password for me. Maybe **_I’m_** the weird one too.”

 

Will didn’t want to give them the chance to interrupt, he wasn’t fishing for them to deny this. He had a point he wanted to make, but didn’t want to yell at his friends. So, instead of continuing to shout, he posed a question to them instead.

 

“Besides, it’s not so weird to want to be by yourself out in the woods sometimes, or to not want to hurt animals? Is it?”

 

The steam left Will fully then, and he looked directly at Lucas and repeated quietly, “Is it?”

 

Lucas shook his head and gave Will a soft smile. “No way. It’s not weird at all.”

 

“So, it’s settled then?” asked Dustin. “The password is Radagast. For the record.”

 

“And you all better remember it,” Will warned them. “No admission to Castle Byers to those who don’t know the password.”

 

Lucas grabbed the paper bag and plastic sack the food had come in and used them to collect the garbage from their little picnic.

 

Mike stretched, yawned, and turned to Will. “What else do you need help with around here?”

 

Before Will could answer, Dustin flopped dramatically onto his side on the pallet-bed, and muttered into his hand, “Jeez Mike, you’re gonna be reincarnated as a chore-wheel when you die. Which will hopefully be soon.”

 

Lucas kicked Dustin’s foot half-heartedly. “What do you know about chore wheels anyway? You get an allowance just for breathing.”

 

Dustin glared at Lucas, clearly indignant. “I get an allowance for keeping up my grades. Which are stellar. And you **_all_** know it.”

 

This was true. Will sometimes was jealous of Dustin’s grades and how school seemed to come so easily to him. But Will also knew something they would all probably like to do, and it wasn’t much of a chore.

 

“Well, I was wanting to put up some of my artwork out here. You guys want to help me pick some out and hang it?”

 

Lucas was nodding, Mike seemed enthusiastic, and even Dustin perked up at the idea of playing art critic. So Will grabbed the pile of papers he had stowed in the milk crate and handed them around to his friends.

 

While they passed the pages around, Will went and retrieved the hammers and little box of tacks. They argued a bit about which were the best, and Will smiled to himself. The ones he thought of as the **_absolute best_** weren’t even out here, he put them up in his room, or kept them safe in a secret folder he kept in his desk. Nothing he put up out here would last too long. Castle Byers was well built, but it wouldn’t protect paper from the weather completely.

 

Mike found one he liked immediately. “I pick **_this_** one,” he said, reaching over to grab one of the hammers. Will took the drawing and held it in place so Mike could “hang” it. Will felt a rush of pleasure when he saw that Mike had picked a picture from a very early D&D campaign when Mike’s Paladin character was still in the party. Mike’s character, in full armor, figured prominently in the picture.

 

Lucas joined them just as they finished. “This,” Lucas said, shaking his choice lightly, “ ** _This_** is the one.” He had the other hammer in hand and proceeded to hang it higher and just to the right of Mike’s choice. All three of them kneeled there to admire them, almost as if they were in a museum. A Giant Owl-Bear was featured in the drawing Lucas chose, with the Party spread around it, preparing for a fight. There was even a little Splug cowering in the corner of the drawing.

 

Will was not one to be braggy or overly prideful, but looking at his pictures, made him nod in satisfaction.

 

_Even though they’re from a while ago, and I’ve gotten better since, they’re still pretty good_ , he thought.

 

Their careful study of Will’s drawings was interrupted by Dustin who was still sitting off to the side and looking through all the options.

 

“Whoa,” Dustin said excitedly. “This is a new one.”

 

Then he laughed to himself and said,”You guys have **_got_** to see this.”

 

Mike and Lucas shuffled over to surround Dustin, who held up the piece of construction paper, but didn’t relinquish it to them. They crowded around either side of Dustin to look at it.

 

Will knew immediately what picture it was. He didn’t have a lot of construction paper, and he had only finished that drawing yesterday.

 

He had been home alone while Mom was at work and Jonathan was back at school. He took the opportunity of being home alone to plant himself in the living room. He had watched some daytime TV, but had gotten sick of the soaps and game shows quickly. Then he had opened up the record player and started listening to music.

 

At some point he had found a Disney record he got at a garage sale ages ago, called _The Story and Songs of the Wizard of Oz_ and put it on. He was sketching in his small sketchpad and thinking about the idea that they might have to move. It sent him spiraling, worried that they wouldn’t be able to keep Chester if they had to move to an apartment. Or worse, that they would move out of Hawkins and he would lose all his friends.

 

In no time, the music and his fear of losing some of the things he loved most had his hand moving across the sketch pad. His drawing was good, and the distraction of focusing so intently on creating something, rather than thinking about everything that made him angry and scared the whole week, was welcome. It caused him to grab a piece of construction paper and to pencil out his creation again, at a larger size, but using crayons and colored pencils this time.

 

It was a picture of the Yellow Brick Road. And on it were the four friends Will was worried about losing. Chester stood in for Toto, and Will grimaced, remembering that he had somehow given Chester too much of a smile in the original sketch.

 

_Dogs can’t smile like that_ , Will thought.

 

But Will had fixed the Cheshire grin on the re-do on the construction paper. Now Chester looked just right. And each of his friends stood in for one of the Oz characters that Dorothy befriends. Mike was the Scarecrow, with wilder hair and straw peeking out of his sweater vest. Lucas was the Tin Man with a bandanna **_and_** the oil can hat. And Dustin was the Cowardly Lion, portrayed with piles and piles of curls and toothless in the front.

 

_Maybe they won’t notice_ , Will thought _._

 

Dustin quashed that feeble hope instantly. He said, wonder in his voice: “Your likenesses are getting better and better Will. That looks just like Chester. This is amazing.”

 

Mike frowned at the drawing. “Why am I the Scarecrow?”

 

Dustin laughed again. “Isn’t it obvious?”

 

Then Dustin put on a decent imitation of the Scarecrow, directly quoting from the movie. “Some people without brains do an awful lot of talking, don't they?”

 

Dustin looked over at Will for confirmation or approval, but Will only smiled impishly and shook his head.

 

As he let Lucas take the picture from him, Dustin announced, “And **_I’m_** the Lion.”

 

“The **_Cowardly_** Lion,” retorted Mike.

 

Lucas glared at Mike, and looked like he wanted to defend Dustin. Lucas took a closer look at the drawing and observed, “Gotta be the hair.”

 

Dustin started full on imitating Bert Lahr from the movie, turning to Mike with his chin up, teeth bared. “I’ll thrash **_you_** from top to bottomus!”

 

All of them, even Mike, laughed at this. Dustin raised his hands into loose fists at Lucas and continued his quotation parade, “Put ‘em up, put ‘em up!”

 

Lucas handed the picture over to Mike and mildly slapped Dustin’s fists away.

 

Mike grabbed the picture and his eyebrows rose appraisingly, and he nodded in appreciation. “So **_you’re_** the Tin Man because you never cry.” He looked at Lucas. “Now it all makes sense. You don’t cry because you’re afraid you’ll rust.”

 

Lucas rolled his eyes at Mike and replied, “I don’t cry because I’m the Tin **_Man_** not the Tin **_Baby_**.”

 

Then Dustin and Mike started to argue about what the Tin Man would have been like as a baby, and if his version of diaper rash was just rust.

 

And just like the Tin Man, Will didn’t have the heart to tell them they were completely overanalyzing the drawing. When he drew the picture, Will wasn’t thinking about how they looked or making some subtle commentary on their personalities. As Will sketched while listening to the record, he was just remembering that Dorothy’s first friend in Oz was the Scarecrow and that Mike was his first real friend. And Lucas and the Tin Man came next, and Dustin and the Cowardly Lion were last. But never least.

 

That’s **_all_** it was. But Will liked how they were so into the drawing, so he let them keep talking and arguing.

 

And they did. Without any prompting from Will they continued to argue and talk back and forth about sixteen things at once: the continuity of the world-building in the Oz books; and the differences between the books and the Movie version; whether a person on a bike could be lifted into a tornado; and if peddling that bike while circling the tornado would actually do anything. And there was a lot about Tin Babies, and what the care and feeding of a Tin Baby would look like.

 

Will loved them all **_so_** much in that moment. He couldn’t for even one second understand why his Father didn’t like them.

 

While they argued and ranted and laughed, Will cast his mind back to the hunting trip last year. To the conversation he had with his Dad. One that he never told anyone about. Not Jonathan, not Mom, nobody.

 

Dad had been silent for a long time when they were alone together while Jonathan was gone to take pictures. Eventually Dad had sat down next to Will on a log around the little campfire, and acted like he was ready to talk. Until then, Will had been having an okay time on the trip. Just spending time with Jonathan and Dad was nice. And yes, Will had been a little upset when neither of them were surprised when Will missed the deer, but he was glad to have some one on one time with Dad.

 

Will expected a speech about how everyone misses sometimes, but it’s always important to keep trying. Or even a lecture about what Will did wrong and how he could improve, wouldn’t have come as a surprise.

 

But what **_was_** a shock, what made the blood drain from Will’s face as fast as his smile fled, was when Dad announced, with no preamble: “Y’know Will, I think your friends are holding you back.”

 

Dad basically focused on the same things Troy fixated on at school. Dad called Lucas “the colored one”. And Dustin was “the diseased one”. And Mike was the same name Dad had assigned to him early on. To Dad, Mike’s fanciful play style and hatred of sports had branded him a “fairy” from the get go. From before Will could even spell the word – or understand “fairy” to mean anything other than Cinderella's flying godmother – that’s how Dad usually referred to Mike.

 

_And to me._

 

Will knew for a fact that Dad knew his friend’s names, but he didn’t use them once during his tirade. About how they would drag Will down “to their level”. And how they were keeping him from being friends with all the “normal” kids.

 

And Will hadn’t defended them. Will had no idea how to stand up to his Father, much less contradict him. So he had just let Dad say his piece.

 

But he had wondered the whole time, _is Dad just a bully like Troy, focusing on things that don’t really matter, or is there something actually **wrong** with my friends?_

 

Will always used to wonder exactly what would have been acceptable to Dad. It’s not like Will wouldn’t have tried to do it. When Will was younger and it was clear Dad didn’t like his friends, he had asked Jonathan if Dad would be happier if Will played with girls instead. Jonathan had laughed harshly and assured him dolls and tea parties and dress up would not go over any better with Dad. So it wasn’t that Will had a gang of guys he hung out with that was the problem, it was Will’s particular gang of guys.

 

The colored boy. The gimpy one. The fairy.

 

And Dad had asked Will to promise he would think about it. And Will had kept his promise. He had thought about it.

 

_More like I **worried** about it, but worrying **is** a form of thinking_.

 

_I guess worrying is the kind of thinking I do best._

 

But after worrying about it for a bit last fall, it didn’t take Will long to conclude that in some ways, Dad **_was_** like the bullies at school. The bullies had their reasons to pick on The Party. Dad had his reasons to think The Party was holding Will back.

 

While recalling all of this, Will continued to watch his friends commiserate and banter and argue. He studied each of them in turn, looking from one to another as each dominated the conversation.

 

At one point, Lucas rolled his eyes so deeply at the very idea that the Tin Man was ever a Tin Baby, that Will was afraid his eyes would get stuck in the back of his head.

 

Over the course of the discussion, Dustin got more and more animated, gesturing so wildly that he knocked off his own cap.

 

And at one point Mike got so irritated with Lucas he put up his hand like a stop sign and pulled on his “you have offended me for the last time” look.

 

_Dad’s reasons are just stupid,_ Will thought suddenly, smiling fondly at the antics of his friends. _There is **nothing** wrong with my friends. Nothing at all. _

 

Will realized Lucas was talking to him. He blinked and tuned back into the discussion. Lucas was saying, “…I guess I should let Dustin in on the secret that you and Mike were total wimps when we were little.” He turned to Dustin and gestured at Mike and Will. “They were **_terrified_** of the flying monkeys.”

 

Dustin grinned, “But not you?”

 

Lucas snorted in disgust. “No way.”

 

“That’s true,” Will interjected. “When we were little Lucas was **_never_** scared of the flying monkeys.”

 

Lucas nodded in satisfaction.

 

“But,” Will continued with a sly smile, “You **_were_** scared of Glinda as I recall.”

 

Dustin laughed heartily, and Mike gave Will a thumb’s up.

 

Lucas held up his hands in protest. “Crazy lady in a bubble? I mean, come on. Monkeys are cool and they had **_wings_** to let them fly. But someone who can levitate in the air without wings? That type of magic is freaky.”

 

Dustin just kept laughing. He put on an imitation of Glinda, and directed his question at Lucas, “Are you a good wimp or a bad wimp?”

 

Lucas looked sheepish and absently asked, “What were we even talking about anyway?”

 

Mike jumped in then, and carefully held up the picture. “About Will’s great drawing.”

 

Dustin gestured all around them to the fort. “And the perfection that is Castle Byers.”

 

“And Tin Babies,” Will added. “You all had a **_lot_** of opinions about Tin Babies.”

 

Then they were all laughing. Even Will. And Will felt better than he had all week. And it was all due to his friends.

 

_Dad was wrong._

 

_My friends don’t hold me back._

 

_They prop me up._

 

\---

 

Joyce put the needle to the record, and adjusted the volume. Music filled the room. Joyce swayed to the beat, and soundlessly mouthed the words to the song.

 

When I was younger so much younger than today  
I never needed anybody's help in any way

 

It was still just a smidge too loud, so she turned it down another notch before heading back to Karen on the couch. Joyce’s nostalgia had returned in full force after telling Karen about her dream. And either the mention of the Beatles had triggered something, or the effects of the wine had taken hold. Either way, they had been listening to music and talking. And drinking. Joyce kept trying to steer the conversation away from her break-up, and that had occasionally worked, at least for small stretches at a time.

 

Karen said, “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

 

“I know, I thought he would live forever.”

 

John Lennon had been killed last December, and Joyce had become obsessed with his murder for a time. She read all the magazines off the shelf at work that featured articles about it. She even found herself buying cheap tabloids in the supermarket aisle whenever they mentioned Lennon, his widow and children, or the killer, Mark David Chapman.

 

Joyce remembered seeing a quote in one of the tabloid headlines about Lennon’s assassination which said, “I have a small part in me that cannot understand the world and what goes on in it.”

 

And Joyce had been sure that was a quote from Lennon. From one of his songs or writings. And Joyce had thought, _Yes! That’s me. I feel that way too._

 

It wasn’t until she got the tabloid home and read the whole article, that she realized a strange fact. The article was a good one, way better than you would expect from the tabloid. It recreated the circumstances of Chapman’s stalking of Lennon as well as the fateful December night of the shooting. But when reading the article, Joyce realized the words she felt herself identify with so strongly weren’t the words of the martyred poet, but those of the poet’s killer.

 

The quote, which was laid out in full in the article, was from Chapman’s statement to the police. It said, “I have a small part in me that cannot understand the world and what goes on in it. I did not want to kill anybody and I really don’t know why I did it….”

 

Chapman’s quote endlessly fascinated Joyce. The one person who **_should_** have been able to explain why something happened was at a loss to explain it. And Joyce sympathized with this. Especially now, listening to John’s lyrics and being asked “why” about something **_she_ **should be able to understand, but couldn’t.

 

Joyce knew her interest in Lennon’s death was shared by many of her peers. It wasn’t just morbid curiosity about the lives and deaths of the rich and famous. It was a true tragedy. A mystery. Lennon’s death seemed shocking and pointless. And Lennon himself, as well as his history with the Beatles, had been such a huge inspiration, to so many people, that to see him cut down for no discernible reason felt like more than a crime. It felt like an affront.  A betrayal.

 

And Joyce felt if she could just learn more, if she could just understand the exact when and how, and most importantly the **_why_** of the killing, then she could accept it. She could move on.

 

And Karen was being a bit like that now, inevitably bringing the conversation back to Joyce and Lonnie’s separation. What Joyce first took for nosiness, for a need to be “in the know” she now saw for what it was. It was not morbid curiosity, any more than Joyce’s wanting to read about Mark David Chapman was.

 

Karen had a vested interest. She wanted to know **_how_** this happened, the signs, the patterns. Joyce understood now, that Karen wanted to be able to recognize it in her own life. Whether it was with the intent to avoid it at all costs, or just to not be **_surprised_** if it came, Joyce wasn’t sure.

 

But Joyce honestly believed Karen had come here to offer help and support, and her words earlier **_had_** helped and Joyce **_did_** feel a little better. So if Karen was helped in return by talking about how this happened and why, Joyce was willing to be honest about it.

 

_I may as well be honest about what I’ve been feeling and worrying about now. If not now, when? And who else do I have to talk to about this? Maybe it’s time to let the dark voice out of my head. Maybe wondering these scary, horrible things aloud is the only way to put them to rest. To let them go._

 

_Or maybe I just drank way too much way too quickly._

 

As the song faded out and the next track began, Joyce looked over at Karen, figuring, _now or never_. She asked suddenly, “You want to know the worst things? All the things I’ve been worried about all week?”

 

“If you want to talk about them, then I want to hear them.”

 

“Well buckle up,” muttered Joyce. “The thing I keep asking myself is ‘why now?’ I mean, if it was just about not being happy, that wasn’t a recent thing.”

 

“It wasn’t?”

 

Joyce shook her head sadly. “No. Not really. So I mean, was I staying for the kids? Or was I just afraid to fail at marriage?”

 

“You’ve always said you don’t care what other people think.”

 

“Maybe I care more than I let on. Otherwise why did I stay? Why did I wait so long? If my marriage was a mistake, how did it take me nearly fifteen years to recognize it?”

 

“You are **_way_** overthinking this Joyce, there were two of you in this marriage. Do you honestly think Lonnie is somewhere right now beating himself up like this?”

 

Joyce huffed out a disbelieving snort. “No. He’s probably drinking somewhere and telling whoever will listen about how he finally got rid of that crazy bitch he married.”

 

“Do you believe what you said earlier? That’s what matters. Not the timing of this. It’s the end result that matters. Do you actually believe that you and the boys could be happier?”

 

“Yes, I do. I even believe that maybe he can be happy too, someday.”

 

“Really? You’re a kinder woman than I am. I sort of hope Lonnie will end up a broken shell of a man, without you to prop him up.”

 

Joyce gave Karen a perfunctory smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

 

Karen leaned over and grasped Joyce’s hands. “You don’t need a reason, not in this time of ‘irreconcilable differences.’ But if you had to say why you wanted a divorce, you just had to say it, straight out, to someone, a lawyer, a judge,” Karen smiled and shook Joyce’s hands a little, “or a friend, what would you say?”

 

Joyce’s voice started out soft, but grew louder as she gathered steam.

 

“I would say I’m tired. I’m tired of struggling over money every day while having to listen to Lonnie’s ‘great provider’ nonsense. I’m tired of walking on eggshells around him. I’m tired of seeing the kids avoid him, or flinch away from him. And most of all, I’m tired of living in a house full of bitterness and empty of love.”

 

Karen nodded at her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Those are real reasons Joyce. This was not in your head. It was certainly not a mid-life crisis.”

 

“And you think some people will understand that?”

 

“I think **_everyone_** will understand that.”

 

\---

 

Will thought there was something seriously wrong with the “T” in “Castle”, but he held his tongue. It was like the “T” was the only lower-case letter in a world of capitals.

 

_That is what you get when you have three friends with wildly different artistic capabilities and penmanship work together on a sign._

 

He smiled despite the weird lettering, and sternly told himself not to be such a perfectionist. The sign wasn’t about perfection, it was about friendship. The Party had finished hanging some of Will’s artwork, and the other three were working on finishing the sign using the yellow paint. The sign read “Castle Byers” in slightly crooked yellow letters.

 

Will had been calling it that ever since he first drew up the plans, sometime last year. He had drawn and re-drawn the hide-out endless times but he was never exactly sure where the name came from. It had just come to him as he was drawing.

 

While the other three put the finishing touches on the sign, Will worried about possibly having to move. What if he had to share some future room with Jonathan after this morning’s big fight? Prior to the fight, Will always thought he wouldn’t mind sharing a room with his brother. From Will’s perspective as the younger, smaller sibling, Jonathan was a great brother who hardly ever picked on Will. Plus, he had a great taste in music.

 

And even when they did fight, it was more along the lines of “get off of me” and “leave me alone,” not “I’m going to punch your face.” Sometimes, when they were really sniping at each other, Mom would send them to their own room to cool off. Dad had always done the same thing, growling, “go to your corners.” It was a sports reference, Will was sure of that, but he couldn’t remember which sport.

 

Will looked away from his friends. They each had their own room, so it’s not like he could ask them what sharing a room was like. But he was sure that lots of kids at school shared rooms with their brothers or sisters.

 

_It won’t be that bad. Maybe it’ll be fun. I’ll always have someone to talk to._

 

He turned back to Lucas, Dustin, and Mike. They were sitting around the now finished sign, staring at him.

 

Lucas asked gently, “You still with us, Byers? You look like you’re far away.”

 

Will nodded slowly. “I was just thinking. I think we might have to move. And I was . . . thinking about maybe having to share a room. Or maybe we’d have to move to an apartment, and we couldn’t keep Chester.”

 

Mike looked sympathetic. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about?”

 

Will nodded, sure the worry was obvious on his face.

 

“One of us could take Chester,” Lucas suggested. “That way you can see him anytime you want.”

 

“Yeah, but that would only work if we stay around here. What if we have to move away? Then I couldn’t go to school with you guys.” Will knew that panic was starting to thread through his voice, but he couldn’t help it. “I would have to get all new friends.”

 

Lucas screwed up his face in reaction to that and shot Mike a look. Mike looked dumbfounded, like the possibility that Will might move away had never even occurred to him.

 

Dustin slowly got to his feet and moved close to Will. He favored his friend with a small smile and asked, “Is that why you pulled a Yertle?”

 

Will, who was previously just anxious, was now anxious **_and_** confused. “A what?”

 

“You pulled into your shell for protection.” Dustin mimed drawing his limbs in towards his torso. Dustin continued gently, “It makes sense, I mean. . . it’s perfectly natural. Yertle does it **_all_** the time when Mews comes around.” Dustin came right up to Will and put his hand onto Will’s shoulder. “But you don’t need to turtle away from us, Will, we’re not coming at you to hurt you.” Dustin gave Will his broadest, toothless smile. “We just want to help you.”

 

Lucas and Mike followed Dustin over to circle Will.

 

Dustin raised his hands, gesturing to the oval they made. “This is just like that time when the three of us fought Troyen,” Dustin said. He looked over at Lucas. “Lucas, do the thing.”

 

Lucas raised his eyebrows. “What is ‘the thing’ exactly?”

 

Dustin mimed putting his hand in to the middle area between them all, and raised his eyebrows with a pained expression which Will interpreted to mean, “The thing, dummy! The thing!”

 

Lucas huffed a laugh, and quickly put his hand on top of Dustin’s. “It’s us against the world, Will. Remember?”

 

Dustin nodded. “It’s just like the party in the game, except for better or worse, **_Mike_** gets to be in **_this_** Party.”

 

Mike scowled at Dustin. “Thanks a heap.” But Mike put his hand on the top of Lucas’s readily enough.

 

They were all looking at him and the pressure Will felt to put his hand in was enormous.

 

_Even if it doesn’t really mean anything or fix anything,_ Will thought.

 

So Will briefly put his hand in and recited dutifully: “Us against the world.” Then Will retracted his hand and let it fall to his side. And that broke the spell. The other three withdrew their hands once Will did, and seemed at a loss for words.

 

Will figured either Mike or Dustin would rush in to break the silence, but this time it was Lucas.

 

“It’s good that we have a real life Party. We need our own organization to combat the Mom Spy Network.”

 

“Exactly,” Dustin agreed. “And if a Party Member requires assistance . . .” Dustin trailed off purposefully and looked at Lucas.

 

Lucas concluded, “Then it’s our duty to provide assistance.”

 

Out of nowhere, Mike snickered, “Lucas said ‘doody’.”

 

Lucas rolled his eyes and hissed, “Grow up, Mike!”

 

Mike brought his hand to his chin as if he was seriously thinking this directive over and then gave Lucas a look and said, “In the wise words of Erica Sinclair, ‘don’t wanna’.”

 

“You may not want to take life lessons from Erica, dumbass! She eats paste.”

 

Dustin shrugged. “So? I eat Play-Doh.”

 

“How is it?” Will asked, mostly to keep the subject on lighter topics.

 

“Mostly salty.”

 

Mike looked thoughtful and tilted his head. “Do the different colors taste any different?”

 

“Of course not.” Dustin sounded perturbed. “Different colored M&M’s don’t taste different do they? Or different colored frosting on a cake? It’s just dye. It doesn’t affect the taste. So no. Just salty.”

 

Lucas turned his head to look incredulously at Mike and Dustin in turn. “What are you two even talking about?”

 

“Play-doh?”

 

“Doody?”

 

“No,” said Lucas. “That’s done now. We were **_trying_** to get into what we came here to talk about.” He gestured toward Will, “with **_him_**.”

 

_Uh oh_ , thought Will, _that sounds bad_. _That sounds like it might explain Mike’s weird moods from before and why he seemed to be checking in with Lucas and Dustin, rather than just speaking his mind. Apparently they all have something they want to talk to me about._

 

Mike opened his mouth, and Will braced himself to maybe be yelled at.

 

But Mike didn’t yell. He was animated, but he seemed to be pleading with Will rather than scolding him. Mike said, “We’re in this together Will. All of us. And you needed assistance and we called you, but . . . .”

 

Will knew he had to respond when Mike trailed off. “This is not D&D, you guys. This is real life. And it is **_not_** fun.”

 

Dustin put out one hand like it was a piece of paper or a book and tapped at it with the fingers of his other hand. Like he was pointing to a sacred text. “A party member needs assistance. That’s all. There’s nothing in there about fun or painful or easy or hard. It’s a yes/no question, for the record. You needed assistance, didn’t you?”

 

Will nodded reluctantly, heart pounding.

 

“It’s not just for the fun things,” Dustin observed patiently. “You all came when I was in the hospital after my oral surgery.” He paused there, and shot a dirty look at Lucas and Mike. “Well, Will actually came by the most, but we can **_do_** this. I know it wasn’t fun, seeing me all messed up and in pain. But being friends - being **_a Party_** \- is **_not_** just about the fun times.”

 

“Exactly,” confirmed Lucas. “Do you think it’s always fun to be around Mike?”

 

For just a moment, Mike looked both astounded and put upon. He narrowed his eyes at Lucas. Then Mike turned to Will and let some heat into his voice. “Please don’t pull this turtle crap. Don’t turn off the comms. Don’t let the phone ring and ring. Just tell us what you need.” Then he added in a softer tone, “We’re asking you. Please.”

 

Will felt defensive then, even though he understood where they were coming from. “Sometimes I just need some time alone.”

 

Mike looked guilty then, and Dustin appeared like he was ready to back off at Will’s pushback.

 

Will was hoping for a trifecta, but Lucas dashed that hope.

 

“Okay,” Lucas said firmly, “I hear you. But you have to at least **_say_** that, because then at least we’ll know. This worrywart,” Lucas gestured directly at Mike, “was like, overly concerned about you.”

 

Dustin was nodding and interjected with a weird hand gesture Will hadn’t seen him use before. Dustin held his hand out, palm down, with the fingers held straight with the thumb curved underneath.

 

_Like you would hold it for a sock puppet_ , Will thought.

 

Then Dustin moved the thumb and “face” of the fingers together and apart at an agitated, manic pace.

 

A small smile came unbidden to Will’s face then, watching Dustin’s hand. “What does that even **_mean_**?”

 

“Like a Muppet freaking out,” Dustin explained. Then Dustin put his whole body into it. “Like when they scream a lot and run around with their arms flailing like . . .” Dustin demonstrated by putting his hands up and out on either side of his head and shaking them frantically from side to side. “You know, like Kermit when the show is about to start? That’s what Mike was like **_all week_**.”

 

Mike scowled at Dustin. “Was this just a roundabout way of calling me ‘frog face’?”

 

Dustin’s smile disappeared and he looked suddenly serious. “No, not at all.”

 

Then Dustin smiled slightly. “That **_is_** pretty funny, but no. Sorry.”

 

Mike looked embarrassed then. “Whatever. Either way, I was **_not_** like that.”

 

Lucas butted in. “I mean, c’mon you **_sort_** of were.” Then he turned to Will. “And if you had just said that you needed some alone time, then maybe Mike wouldn’t have been so . . . “

 

Now Lucas did the sock puppet thing with his hand, making the mouth-equivalent open and close at a frantic pace, as he grasped for words. “Maybe then Mike wouldn’t have been so . . . freak-y out-y.”

 

Now it was Dustin’s turn to scowl. “Let’s not say **_that_**. That makes it sound like you’re describing a really deformed type of belly button.”

 

Lucas shrugged and laughed. “Well now we’re for **_sure_** calling it that.”

 

Mike’s sigh was dramatic and audible to them all. “Why am I **_always_** under the bus?”

 

Lucas patted him kindly on the shoulder. “We all just find it really fun.”

 

“It’s not fun for everyone,” Mike grumbled.

 

Will knew Mike well enough to know that even though he sounded huffy and genuinely annoyed, this was a part he played all the time. A lot of the time Mike bought into the whole Charlie Brown “why is everybody always picking on me?” demeanor and played into it in different ways.

 

The group broke apart then, with Lucas still patting Mike’s shoulder to offset his pouting, Dustin lifting his cap and drawing his sleeve across his brow, oblivious to the fact that some yellow paint had made its way onto his face at some point.

 

Will figured the little lecture was over now. But he took it to heart. He didn’t think they confronted him out of ego or anger. And Will was well aware in that moment, that in a lot of ways, he’d done the same thing as his Dad. Disappeared and cut off all contact with his friends the way Dad had cut off contact with him. It was something Will was **_very_** glad they hadn’t thrown in his face.

 

He searched his mind for a way to make it up to them. His eyes lit on the Castle Byers sign and the extra pieces of wood. An idea started forming in the back of his mind.

 

He said, “You guys did great with that sign. Where do you think it should go?”

 

Any type of open-ended question like this was catnip to The Party. And Will took full advantage of that fact. All three of them immediately started talking and arguing. While they were discussing the pros and cons, Will grabbed the paint, one of the paintbrushes, and another piece of wood. Then he turned his back to his friends so they wouldn’t see exactly what he was doing, and started making his own sign.

 

Eventually, as Will worked hastily on the third sign, the boys decided “Castle Byers” ideal placement was to be centered just below “Home of Will the Wise”. Mike and Lucas both teetered on the step-ladder, Mike holding the sign in place, and Lucas hammering away. Dustin stayed on the ground making sure it was centered.

 

Will listened to them talking while he painted.

 

Dustin called out, “A little more to the left.”

 

Lucas said, “Once we get this centered to Dustin’s satisfaction, we’ll need to get going. I’m supposed to be home by dinner.”

 

“You gonna come with us, Mike?”

 

“No. I don’t have my bike with me. I figure I’ll wait for my Mom.”

 

“Why don’t you all come over to my place tomorrow, and you can help me clean my room?” asked Dustin.

 

Lucas sounded indignant. “Why on God’s green earth would we do that?”

 

“I thought we were just making the rounds and doing chores for each other now? It should be **_my_** turn. My room’s a mess, but it’s **_really fun_** to clean. I figured you guys would want in on the fun.”

 

“That is some sort of high-level Tom Sawyer-painting-a-fence bullshit right there,” scoffed Mike. “Pass.”

 

“Okay, so sue me for trying. Geez.”

 

Will smiled at their bickering. When he finished his sign he turned to face them.

 

“Looks great, guys. You all up for one more favor before you go?”

 

Dustin huffed, and closed his eyes in apparent despair. “Will the chores never end?”

 

“This is the last one, I promise.”

 

“No.” Dustin turned his gaptoothed smile on Will. “I wasn’t asking you a question. I was giving you a title. Like an Indian name.” Then Dustin put his hands up like he was taking in a billboard. “Will: The Chores Never End.”

 

Dustin took a little bow as Mike laughed and almost fell off the ladder.

 

Lucas hopped down and imitated Dustin and put his hands up with a dreamy look, and said, “Dustin: the Fun Never Begins.”

 

Even Dustin smiled at that. “Now **_that_** was good word-play. No ‘Castle-warming gifts,’ but still. A solid B+.”

 

“There’s just one more sign we have to hang up. And I want the three of you to see it.”

 

Will flipped the board so that they could read the sign he had made: “All Friends Welcome.”

 

“I heard what you said,” he told them. “And I’m not going to pull a Yertle anymore. Not with my three best friends.”

 

\---

 

Joyce missed the wine and music.

 

The wine was still there, sitting on the coffee table, but by unspoken agreement, she and Karen had stopped drinking. Finally Karen did reach for the bottle, but only to screw the top back on. And that was that.

 

The side of the Beatles record had ended. Joyce hadn’t bothered to get up to flip it over or put on a new one. The arm had simply arced back into place, and John Lennon went silent all over again. And that was that.

 

Karen was still talking about how the timing of the separation didn’t matter, but Joyce still thought it did. A final dark thought circled continuously in her mind. Maybe it was the worst one of all.

 

Maybe Joyce had noticed long ago how Lonnie crushed Jonathan’s spirit and how he conditioned the joy out of Will.

 

_And every day I didn’t leave -- because I was too afraid of being a divorcee; because I was too afraid of being seen as a failure at marriage; because I was too afraid of raising them on my own -- was another day they were stamped down even more._

 

And it made no sense, some of the things Lonnie picked apart in the boys. Like music.

 

_I have always loved music, and I thought that Lonnie loved that **about** me._

 

Joyce had tried to give her love of music to the boys, and she thought she succeeded. They both seemed to enjoy it.

 

Even though Jonathan seemed to gravitate to music that would explicitly annoy Lonnie, Jonathan could still get lost in songs, just like Joyce used to when she was young. These days Joyce felt Jonathan was turning a bit more towards photography, but he still loved music. When Jonathan played his music for her, she always felt old, like she was turning into her own parents. She couldn’t keep up with modern music, and if pressed, she would admit it sometimes sounded more like noise than notes. But more often than not, she found the beat made her tap her toes, or a specific lyric made her heart swell, and she could understand why Jonathan chose to play it for her.

 

And Will? Even as a baby, Will always responded well to music. Then later, when he was older, he learned the words and melodies so fast. He could often sing along on a second hearing. She wondered if Will was only responding to her enthusiasm, because she had seen him respond to Jonathan’s enthusiasm for **_very_** different music in exactly the same way. But maybe Will was still too young to have his own tastes, maybe he was just soaking up all music like a sponge, eager to hear everything.

 

Will had always been so happy and free, singing and dancing at the drop of a hat. Even in Joyce’s biased thinking that her kids were perfect special snowflakes, she knew Will was no child prodigy. It wasn’t that he was super talented at singing or dancing, but he was enthusiastic about it. It seemed to bring him such joy.

 

_But is that even a real memory, or just my perception of the past?_

 

She looked over at Karen, hoping for clarity. “You remember how Will was, right? It’s not just in my head? My joyful, singing, dancing, gigglemonster?”

 

Karen smiled and nodded. “I remember. It wasn’t even like he was just courting attention, like with Nancy and Michael. He’d close his eyes sometimes, like he didn’t care if **_anyone_** was watching, and dance with his arms open wide.”

 

“I think Lonnie conditioned that out of them. Out of my boys. And I let him.”

 

Karen tilted her head, not quite disagreeing yet, but looking like she wanted to. “What do you mean?”

 

Joyce ran a hand through her hair, and sat forward, thinking. “Lonnie. And his annoyance with flowers and singing and dancing and art. And his focus on sports and physical activity and guns. He stamped something out of them.”

 

“Maybe,” Karen admitted. “But maybe not. I mean, Jonathan . . .”

 

“He’s older, and he always had less regard for his Dad. I mean his focus on artistic pursuits and in music Lonnie **_hates_** _,_ that could be a direct response to Lonnie.”

 

“A ‘screw you, dad’ impulse?”

 

“Exactly. But with Will . . .” Joyce’s face fell. “He’s never seemed capable of playing the rebel. Or of living with the disappointment in Lonnie’s eyes.”

 

“Even if Lonnie did put out that message, Joyce, that’s not what they got from you. Or from any of us. The only thing I’ve **_ever_** seen you put across to them is acceptance and encouragement.”

 

“But you can’t argue with the facts. My smiley gigglemonster is gone, and Will has changed into this withdrawn and shy kid. The most I can hope for now is a quiet smile. And I think we did that,” Joyce’s voice trembled. She felt ashamed. “Lonnie and me. We diminished the best part of Will.”

 

“You need to stop this, Joyce.” Karen’s voice was adamant. “You’re beating yourself up over nothing. ”

 

Joyce nodded gratefully but remained unconvinced.

 

“And I think you’re wrong anyway,” Karen continued.

 

“About what?”

 

“You may be right that Lonnie tried to make the boys like certain things or act in certain ways, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t work.”

 

Karen paused, as if she was considering whether or not to continue. Eventually she did. “I think you’re reacting to a real thing, but I just don’t think it has anything to do with Lonnie or the break-up. I think they’re just growing up.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, I think you’re reacting to something that I’ve noticed too. Nancy and Jonathan are teens. And now Michael and Will are on the cusp of growing up too. They’re not children anymore. And that’s scary. Before I had Holly, I felt it too.”

 

“Felt what?”

 

Karen sighed, tapping her fingers against her leg. “I don’t know how to put it into words. “ She shrugged. “Felt sad I guess. Felt like looking at the world through their eyes wasn’t different anymore.” Karen threw up her hands. “Maybe that’s part of why I had Holly.”

 

Joyce raised her eyebrows at that; she had always thought that Holly had been an “oops” baby.

 

“No, not really. That’s silly. But it’s so nice to be able to look at the world again through the eyes of a child. They see things so simply. No fear of the future. No sorrow. No hatred. All innocent wonder, and magic and happily ever after.”

 

Karen shifted on the couch and nodded to Joyce. “And they had that. Jonathan and Nancy. And maybe Michael and Will still have some of it. But not for long.”

 

Joyce’s voice was small. “But why?”

 

“Because no one dances like that. Not for long. Only children. Maybe you were too busy smoking outside the gym to remember clearly. But no one danced like that in High School. Not even in Junior High. We were already too grown up. We had learned to be self-conscious. We’d learned to . . .” Karen trailed off, at a loss.

 

Joyce supplied sadly, “Hold back our hearts.”

 

“And we didn’t all have parents that ‘stamped out’ parts of us. We just grew up. Time passed, and the magic slipped away.”

 

Clearly Joyce had underestimated her friend. Maybe she had taken Karen’s surface polish to mean that’s all there was to her. A triumph of suburban middle-class housewife conformity. The ultimate example of style over substance.

 

But that wasn’t fair. All day long Karen had been displaying understanding and a depth of feeling that Joyce had rarely encountered in her adult life.

 

“And I get it,” Karen continued. “It’s sad to think your kids are learning to fear the future, or that they’re figuring out that life isn’t simple or fair. Because before they grow up too much, it can be so inspiring and energizing to see the world through their eyes. But that change isn’t about how you failed them, Joyce. It’s just about how they’re growing up.”

 

Joyce smiled. “I want to believe you. That sounds so much better than the thoughts running through my head.”

 

“You **_should_** believe me. I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.” Karen leaned toward Joyce and put a comforting hand on her arm. “You’ve done a great job with those boys, Joyce.”

 

\---

 

Mike stared at the Yellow Brick Road in Will’s picture and thought about who was missing.

 

Will.

 

And Dorothy.

 

_Will cast himself as Dorothy_.

 

He had come to the observation immediately after seeing the picture, but for some reason Mike hadn’t wanted to draw attention to his absence. Or be the one to bring it up.

 

_At least not while Lucas and Dustin were still here_.

 

But Lucas and Dustin had left. And now Will and Mike were lounging in Castle Byers. And Mike was pretty sure Will wasn’t really mad at him after all.

 

_So now maybe I **can** bring it up. In a nice way._

 

Mike cast one more quick glance at the drawing before turning his attention to Will. But before he opened his mouth, Will asked: “Were you really freaking out about me? Like they said?”

 

Mike sighed. He didn’t appreciate Dustin’s little sock-puppet gesture or the term “freak-y out-y.” But he couldn’t exactly deny it either.

 

“I didn’t know **_what_** was happening. At first everyone said you were just sick. But then my Mom was on the phone saying that your Dad left. And then I couldn’t reach you and you wouldn’t talk to us, and . . . “ Mike abruptly stopped talking. He was speaking too fast, and over-explaining. It was a yes or no question after all.

 

He sighed, shoulders slumped. “Yeah. I guess I was. We were **_all_** worried, though.”

 

Mike felt instantly nervous as he searched Will’s face for his reaction.

 

_I just have no idea what would be worse. Will thinking it’s weird that I cared so much. Or just him making fun of me for freaking out._

 

Will’s brows furrowed, and Mike was certain Will was about to yell at him based on his facial expression alone.

 

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop, Mike.”

 

Mike sighed inwardly, but this time it was a sigh of relief.

 

_Not true anger. Just another time where Will tells me how to behave in a polite and civilized world._

 

Mike was used to this. Sometimes it was even helpful.

 

_But this time it’s nonsense._

 

Mike smirked. “If I didn’t eavesdrop I would never learn **_anything_**. My parents never tell me anything except ‘clean your room’.”

 

Mike waited for Will to point out for the umpteenth time how Mike’s room was “a hideous mess” and could probably do with a little cleaning. Mike knew this was Will’s opinion and he had said similar things before. But Will simply smiled at Mike’s little joke, and looked like he wanted to apologize.

 

Mike wanted to head that off at the pass. So he picked up the picture again, and said, “It’s a great drawing. And you’re just like her, you know?”

 

Will blushed a little but didn’t question what Mike was referring to. This made Mike feel like he was on the right track, so he barreled on.

 

“You’re like the hero of the story. And just being around you is . . . I mean . . .you do the same things. You make Lucas nicer and Dustin braver and . . .”

 

Mike trailed off and glanced at Will. Will was looking at him with a shy, teasing smile. “And you smarter?”

 

Mike shook his head quickly and grimaced. “I wish you hadn’t made me the brainless one.” He replaced the grimace with an affectionate smile. “Well, not exactly. Not smarter really. But better. You make me better. And not only by teaching me not to eavesdrop.”

 

Will chuckled. “If I’m your ‘don’t eavesdrop’ teacher, then I‘m doing a piss-poor job.”

 

Mike laughed. “Hey. I’ll get there at some point. You eventually got me to stop asking all our teachers to ‘tell me something I don’t already know.’”

 

“Did I?”

 

“Yes!” Mike exclaimed, outraged. “Last year I said that to Miss Garvin and you piped up and said, and I quote, ‘Tell him how to be polite or to how to keep his mouth shut.’”

 

Will looked down in guilty amusement. “Well, I just felt those were some things you didn’t already know.”

 

“And I think Dustin was even more mad than me. He had such a crush on Miss Garvin, and he tried all year to make her laugh. And quiet, raise-my-hand-before-I-speak Will Byers got a belly laugh out of her on the first try.”

 

“What? She has a nice laugh.”

 

“At **_my_** expense.” Mike shook his head at Will, as if he was disappointed in him. “You’re the **_worst_**.”

 

Will stopped laughing. He swallowed and asked Mike hesitantly, “Mike, you **_do_** know that I only said that so you wouldn’t get in trouble, right? Miss Garvin was **_not_ **happy about what you said . . .”

 

Mike did recall thinking he was about to get in trouble that day. No one had laughed when he said it, and he’d been tired and hungry, and it hadn’t come out funny at all. Maybe it **_had_** come out a little mean. But after Will’s comment, Mike had turned so red, and Miss Garvin had laughed so hard that the rest of the kids took that as a sign that they could laugh too. And being laughed at in that moment had felt **_so_** bad. But maybe not as bad as getting into trouble would have felt.

 

Mike’s expression turned serious. “You’re always doing things like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Will things.” Mike lightly shook the drawing he was still holding, “Dorothy things. You go along looking out for everyone all the time. I **_get_** that I can’t fix this for you, but **_that’s_** why I want to. I guess I just wanted to make things better for you, somehow. Like you do, for everyone else.”

 

Will blushed then, and couldn’t quite meet Mike’s gaze. “Thanks, Mike.” After a moment, Will inclined his chin at the drawing. “If you want it, you should keep that picture.”

 

Mike raised one eyebrow in surprise. “For serious?”

 

“For serious.” Then Will licked his lips and managed a nervous apology. “And I’m sorry for making you freak out. . . .”

 

“Stop it.”

 

Will looked taken aback. “Stop what?”

 

Mike set the picture down carefully and spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “Stop. Apologizing. All. The. Time. Your Mom told **_me_** to stop and to tell you to stop doing it too. None of this is your fault.”

 

Will’s stomach fell. He clenched his fists and turned away from Mike. “You don’t know that, Mike,” he muttered miserably.

 

“I **_do_** know it. And I know that because of what your Mom said, I didn’t want to say sorry to you, not, like, **_automatically_**. But there is **_one_** specific thing I am sorry for.”

 

Mike waited patiently for Will to look at him again, but Will’s gaze remained firmly on one of Mrs. Walgren’s cushions, so Mike launched into his official apology.

 

“I’m sorry for **_every_** bad thing I said or thought about your Dad. I know that I’ve said stuff you didn’t like. But when I said ‘I wish he’d just leave you alone’, **_this_** is **_not_** what I meant. I meant . . .”

 

Mike was fully prepared to go on. Fully prepared to address the yelling, the bullying, and the name-calling.

 

But Will interrupted him. Will’s adam’s apple bobbed and he turned his attention to the little stool he was using at a table. With his back to Mike, Will mumbled, “I know what you meant.”

 

_Hey_ , Mike thought, _No fair. No more running away. You promised._

 

And Mike knew this was a babyish thought. It was no different than when Mike was “it” during tag and couldn’t manage to catch anyone. “No fair” was something he often said, just not out loud.

 

It had taken many years for Mike to understand one of the fundamental differences between him and Will. At his core, Mike always wanted to weave his words to fix everything. Mike truly thought words could somehow make the whole world better. But Mike had learned over the years that his precious words didn’t always work on Will.

 

_It’s not like I run out of them_ , Mike thought while staring at Will’s back. _I can keep babbling through even Will’s **longest** silences._

 

_But it doesn’t always help him. Sometimes. But not always. It might help me, but not him._

 

_But I know what comforts Will. I’ve seen Mrs. Byers do it and Jonathan and even today when Dustin literally lifted him. And his spirits._

 

_Touch_ , Mike thought, _that’s what Will wants_.

 

Mike recalled that one of his fantasy novels had this whole scene of an argument between a Wizard and a Knight and a Cleric. The Cleric had sided with the Knight over the Wizard. The Wizard always talked and talked and talked. The Cleric had told the Wizard something like “the spoken word can’t heal you, not like the laying on of hands.” And then the Cleric touched the Knight and healed him.

 

And Mike knew he was like that Wizard, always trying to talk things into making sense. Always trying to argue someone into a better mood.

 

But even though Will played a Wizard in their D&D game, Mike thought Will was more like the Cleric in the story. More like Dorothy. Someone who tried to help everyone they met.

 

_Someone who can heal you and make you better._

 

But touching at this point was awkward. They were both seated on the little pallet-bed, and Will was sitting cross-legged and turned fully away from him.

 

So Mike did what he could. He reached out his left arm and put it on the back of Will’s right shoulder.

 

Mike didn’t get the reaction he was hoping for. Will tensed briefly, and then his shoulder started to hunch up and down.

 

_No_ , Mike thought, _Please don’t. Not that. Please don’t cry._

 

But Will was. Mike was certain Will had started to quietly sob.

 

_Because I grabbed him like a dummy._

 

Mike’s hand rose and fell along with Will’s shoulder as he continued to cry.

 

_Now I want to take my hand back. Or crawl into a hole. Or explode like a dying sun. Anything but sit through this._

 

Mike hated it when other people cried. It made **_him_** want to cry. It made his stomach hurt.

 

He had made Nancy cry once. Said something horrible. He was punished severely for it too, but Mike couldn’t even remember what the punishment was. Nothing was worse than knowing **_he_** was the cause of Nancy’s tears.

 

The worst was when he had seen his Mom cry. Last year after Holly was born, he found her folding baby clothes and openly weeping. Mike had taken one look and burst into tears himself. He couldn’t think of anything to do for her. How could a boy help a grown-up?

 

_How can I help Will now?_

 

Mike didn’t know. So even though it was weird to think about, he instinctively did the same thing for Will as he did when confronted with his Mom’s tears. He had reached for her.

 

So Mike gently turned Will back towards him. Will didn’t resist, and didn’t even bother trying to hide his face or pretend he wasn’t crying.

 

_It’s pretty obvious anyway._

 

Mike feared Will might try to move out of reach, but he didn’t. Will turned pliably enough for Mike to pull him into a hug. Will pressed his face into Mike’s shirt and Mike used both arms to give his friend a reassuring squeeze.

 

“He’s gone, Mike. He’s gone. He – I think he **_hates_** me. I think . . .” Will’s voice cracked. “I think that’s **_why_** he left.”

 

Mike opened his mouth to speak.

 

What he **_wanted_** to say was the same thing he said to his Mom last year: “Please don’t cry. Please don’t.”

 

But that wasn’t fair. Mike knew if his parents split up he would be crying his eyes out. But silences always made Mike uncomfortable, so he started “I . . . ”

 

But Mike stopped almost immediately.

 

_I what? Understand? Can fix it?_ _Those things aren’t true. Not really._

 

_I’m sorry_?

 

Mrs. Byers had told him to stop saying he was sorry.

 

If Mike wanted to help someone like Will always did, if he wanted to **_be_** like Will in this moment, then he had to take a page out of Will’s book.

 

Sometimes when Will was in an argument but wanted to pretend he wasn’t, Will started spouting fact after fact. True statement after true statement.

 

Mike thought he knew why Will did this.

 

_Will thinks that by only stating facts, then no one will continue to argue with him. You can’t argue with facts._

 

Mike had seen this work to diffuse a disagreement between Will’s Dad and teachers at school, so Mike gave that a try.

 

He stated a fact.

 

“I’m here, Will.”

 

He stated it again.

 

“I’m here.”

 

Mike hoped that would be enough.

 

They stayed like that for a long time. Will crying, and Mike muttering true statements and intermittently giving Will a squeeze for emphasis.

 

As Will was quieting down, Mike thought he heard someone approaching outside.

 

This was proven true moments later, when Jonathan called out, “Mike, it’s time to go back to the house. Your Mom says it’s time to go.”

 

Will stiffened at the sound of Jonathan’s voice, and pulled away from Mike. Will rubbed his eyes and nose on his sleeve and looked embarrassed.

 

“It’s okay,” Mike said. “I’ll go out and stall him for a minute. But then you should talk to him. He thinks you’re mad at him.” Mike squeezed Will’s shoulder so he got the message. “It feels bad when you think someone is mad at you.”

 

Will swiped at his nose again. “I was never mad at you, Mike.”

 

“I know that. Now.”

 

“But you were mad at me,” Will sniffled.

 

“I was. It was stupid. I’m not mad anymore. I promise.” Another true statement.

 

“Mike? Will?” Jonathan called again, sounding dangerously near this time.

 

“I got this,” Mike said, shooting Will a final smile. He grabbed his backpack, the picture, and then he was gone, the bedsheet door flapping behind him.

 

Mike watched Jonathan approach, with that shoulder first walk he always used. Mike was never sure whether that was an aggressive walk, or a walk he used at school to part the crowds around him, or what.

 

_It definitely makes me want to stay out of his way, though._

 

Mike jogged over to Jonathan, hoping Will had enough time to compose himself.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey, your Mom is ready to get going, I need to take you back to the house.”

 

“I can find my own way back.”

 

“I feel like your Mom’s in a bit of a hurry. Returning by compass may take too long.”

 

Mike smiled. “You were right. It’s not that far. And I know where I’m going, now, thanks to you.”

 

Jonathan lifted an eyebrow, clearly curious.

 

“You were right about the other thing too. About The Party being able to help Will. I think we did that.”

 

Mike gestured toward Castle Byers and watched with pride as Jonathan noticed the toy sword leaning against the wall, the flag flapping in the breeze, and the brand new signs, still visible in the gloaming.

 

“You should stay though. I think maybe we reached the limits of what The Party can do. I think Will needs his big brother.”

 

“Yeah?” asked Jonathan.

 

“For sure. The password is ‘Radagast’. Don’t tell him **_I’m_** the one who told you, okay?”

 

“I promise.”

 

Mike shrugged into his backpack, careful not to damage the gift from Will.

 

“Seeya, Mike.”

 

“Seeya.”

 

Mike started the walk back to the house, leaving Jonathan in his wake.

 

He stopped when he heard a shout.

 

“Hey Wheeler, you leaving without saying goodbye?”

 

Mike turned back towards Castle Byers and saw Will framed in the doorway. Will looked completely normal. If Mike hadn’t seen it happen, he never would have guessed Will was crying just a little bit ago.

 

Mike smiled to himself. _Operation Brother Distraction was a complete success._

 

Then he called back to Will. “Promise me you’ll turn on the comms tonight?”

 

Will scuffed one shoe in the dirt. “Sometimes I don’t have anything to say, Mike.”

 

Mike shrugged. “That’s okay. Even if you’re only calling to say goodnight or that it was a bad day or even to tell me that you have nothing to say. I just need to know you’re still talking to me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Mike pointed at Will while walking backwards away from the Castle. “Don’t you disappear on me again, Will Byers.”

 

“I won’t. I promise.”

 

\---

 

Joyce let herself enjoy the fresh spring breeze as she and Karen sat on the front porch swing, swaying slightly in the fading light.

 

She had sent Jonathan off to fetch Mike and they had migrated out to the porch to wait.

 

The talk of serious things had ended the moment Karen had said she needed to get home to see about dinner and Joyce had called Jonathan out of his room.

 

_No matter what we said before, we’re right back to sheltering them again._

 

Joyce kicked at the ground, causing the swing to re-start its gentle motion.

 

_But maybe that’s okay. Maybe sheltering them from half-drunken Mom ramblings at this point is okay. Everything I was discussing with Karen was my time to get my doubts and my darkest thoughts out of my system before talking to the boys tonight. At their level_.

 

Since the sun was setting, Joyce expected Jonathan to come back with both the boys. So she was surprised when Mike rounded the house alone, wearing his backpack and carefully holding a piece of construction paper.

 

Joyce and Karen both rose from the swing as Mike ran over to greet them.

 

“Mom! Mrs. Byers!”

 

He bounded up onto the porch, and when Karen reached for him, he expertly ducked under her reach and stayed just out of hugging distance.

 

_Already?_ Joyce thought, _I thought we still had more time with Mike and Will._

 

“What have you been doing?” Karen clucked at him. “Literally rolling around in the dirt?”

 

Mike shot her a scornful look. “No. We were **_working_**. We hammered wood to make the walls and made a flagpole and made signs and . . .”

 

Karen interrupted him. “That’s all well and good, but you are taking a bath tonight, Mister.”

 

“On a Saturday?”

 

“Yes. There’s a cloud of dust around you, like Pigpen from that cartoon.”

 

Joyce moved toward Mike and asked, “Where are the boys?”

 

Mike smiled up at her. “They wanted to talk. Jonathan thought Will was mad at him.” Mike nodded knowingly. “But I don’t think Will was. So they’re going to talk.”

 

“So Will is back to talking again, huh?”

 

Mike chuckled. “He said he just needed some time to think. But he’s talking again now. I told him what you said about not saying ‘sorry’. But he did it anyway.”

 

Joyce nodded.

 

_That sounds like my boy_.

 

“What have you got there?” Joyce asked, nodding to the piece of paper.

 

“A picture Will drew.”

 

“Can I see it?”

 

Mike eyed her suspiciously. “Will said **_I_** could keep it.”

 

“You can, honey, I just wanted to see it. I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

 

“No. It’s new,” Mike explained. He stood between them and held it up for both women to see. “That’s Chester and Dustin and Lucas and me.”

 

Joyce stared at the picture. _The Wizard of Oz_. One of Will’s favorites.

 

A chill ran down Joyce’s spine.

 

_And obsessed about by Lennon’s killer._

 

It was funny how some things could become so beloved by an entire nation and other things forgotten. That movie had come out before Joyce was even born, and to hear her Mom tell it, it hadn’t even made much money in its original release.

 

But Joyce remembered they started showing it on TV when she was young and it became this annual tradition. Everyone in the family, young and old, gathered together around the TV to watch it, every year. And at first, the big transformation when Dorothy opened her eyes in Oz was lost on young Joyce since they only had a black and white TV. But eventually they got a color set and Dorothy’s amazement in that scene made more sense.

 

Once the boys were old enough, Joyce continued that tradition in her own house. She had read somewhere recently that the film was one of the most watched films in movie history. So it shouldn’t be surprising when references to it popped up in the most unexpected of places.

 

But the chill stayed with Joyce, as she recalled the Lennon and Chapman connection. Once Lennon’s killer was in custody, they had searched his hotel room for the motive that eluded them, and found the strange detritus of his life, arranged like a shrine on the dresser in the hotel. One thing they found was a still photograph from _The Wizard of Oz_ showing Judy Garland, as Dorothy, wiping a tear from the cheek of the Cowardly Lion.

 

_A scene of apology_ , Joyce thought, _of comfort and the acceptance of another’s shortcomings._

 

_Fixated on by a killer._

 

And Joyce had often wondered who Chapman imagined himself to be in that photo. Dorothy, who had lashed out in fear and regretted it? Or the Lion, backed into a corner, only able to make threats that were impossible for him to carry out?

 

_I guess I’ll never know._

 

But she knew right away Will had cast himself as Dorothy in his picture. And Joyce noted he had cast Mike as the one he would miss “most of all”.

 

_There’s no place like home_ , thought Joyce, allowing Dorothy’s most famous line to run through her mind.

 

It didn’t take much for Joyce to project those words into Will’s mouth. It was completely understandable that some of the same things she had been wrestling with in the back of her mind, such as the prospect of moving, would be in the forefront of Will’s mind.

 

_This is the only home he’s ever known_. _There **literally** is no place like it in his mind._

 

She smiled at Mike and said, “That’s a pretty good one, isn’t it?”

 

Mike turned the picture back around and looked at it fondly. “Yeah,” he said softly.

 

While Mike was focusing on the picture, Karen took that opportunity to pull Mike to her and quietly instruct: “We have to go, sweetie, so you should say thank you to our host.”

 

Mike looked up at Joyce, and said dutifully: “Thanks for having us, we had fun.”

 

“I’m glad. You’re welcome any time.”

 

Karen shooed Mike away then, directing him toward the car. “You go get settled, and I’ll be there in a minute.”

 

Then Karen turned to Joyce. “We’ll talk soon?”

 

Joyce nodded. “Definitely. I’ll get those dishes back to you next time I see you.”

 

“You working on Tuesday?”

 

“Yep. Full time hours, remember?”

 

“I need to do some shopping, so once I get the kids off to school, I’ll bring Holly by.”

 

_To check up on me?_ Joyce wondered. But then she figured that no matter the reason it would be nice to see her friend and see the baby for a bit.

 

_And it’s nice that someone cares._

 

Joyce reached out for Karen and drew her into an awkward embrace. “Thanks for coming and for everything you said.”

 

Karen gave her a squeeze and whispered in her ear, “The worst is over now. Remember that.”

 

Then with a wave, Karen moved to the car.

 

As Joyce leaned against the support post and watched Karen leave, her friend’s parting words kept repeating in her mind.

 

_The worst is over now._

 

Joyce went back into the empty house. She eyed the dirty wine glasses and empty wine bottle on the coffee table. And the half full one Karen forgot.

 

_Or forgot on purpose._

 

Joyce was debating whether to clean up or head out and find the boys and try to get them to talk. Really talk. But despite all she had talked through with Karen today, there was still a part of her that feared what they would say. That wondered what she could say to them.

 

_The worst is over now._

 

Karen’s words reminded Joyce of an old song, and she was sure she had the single somewhere. She set the glassware and the bottles in the kitchen and returned to the living room to search through her records.

 

It was a distraction, she realized, a way to postpone what she knew she had to do. But once the idea of finding the old song got lodged in her brain, there was no escaping it. She misremembered it at first, knowing it was written by Paul Simon, so she kept looking for a Simon and Garfunkel album. But then she found it, among the ’45 singles, _Red Rubber Ball_ by the group called The Cyrkle.

 

Of course **_this_** had a Lennon connection as well.

 

_It seems like John is with me in spirit today._

 

The Cyrkle had been known as the Rondells, and she remembered reading John Lennon had come up with the new name.

 

She pulled the Cyrkle ‘45 from its faded sleeve and fit it and the special attachment for ‘45s on the record player. Then she turned the switch to “Repeat” so the single would keep playing while she cleaned.

 

She returned to the kitchen, and stowed the half full wine bottle in the fridge. She grabbed the dirty dishes and took them to the sink. As she let the sink fill with hot soapy water, she took off her wedding ring and put it in this _thing_ Jonathan had made her years and years ago at school.

 

It was a little bowl made of clay. You could still faintly see the little indentation designs Jonathan had made with a toothpick, and a little smile he had carved nonsensically on one side. It was painted blue and yellow on the outside, bright orange on the interior. When he presented it to her one early Mother’s Day, she had no idea what it was for, and she was pretty sure he hadn’t known either.

 

That was okay. The bowl was just gravy for the real gift. The “Love you mommy” and hug she got was the best present of all. But for as long as she could remember, this clay bowl was sitting there beside the sink, and it had become the place she put her rings whenever she was doing dishes or other chores.

 

And as she worked on the dishes, she let her mind focus on the song playing from the living room. And maybe it was just her frame of mind or nostalgia, but she found herself getting emotional.

 

> I should have known you'd bid me farewell
> 
> There's a lesson to be learned from this and I learned it very well
> 
> Now I know you're not the only starfish in the sea
> 
> If I never hear your name again, it's all the same to me
> 
> And I think it's gonna be all right
> 
> Yeah, the worst is over now
> 
> The mornin' sun is shinin' like a red rubber ball

 

And she focused on certain lyrics that hit her heart.

 

In a **_good_** way.

 

And she sang along with the chorus. She knew at some level that her emotional state had almost nothing to do with the song itself. The song was mostly nonsense. But at this particular moment, it felt cathartic all the same.

 

> You never care for secrets I confide
> 
> For you I'm just an ornament, somethin' for your pride
> 
> Always runnin', never carin', that's the life you live
> 
> Stolen minutes of your time were all ya had to give
> 
> And I think it's gonna be all right
> 
> Yeah, the worst is over now
> 
> The mornin' sun is shinin' like a red rubber ball

 

Once she was done with the dishes, the song replayed several times, and the lyrics came back to Joyce quicker than she thought they would.

 

> The story's in the past with nothin' to recall
> 
> I've got my life to live and I don't need you at all
> 
> The roller-coaster ride we took is nearly at an end
> 
> I bought my ticket with my tears, that's all I'm gonna spend
> 
> And I think it's gonna be all right
> 
> Yeah, the worst is over now
> 
> The mornin' sun is shinin' like a red rubber ball

 

After she dried her hands, she reached for the clay bowl to retrieve her wedding ring. She hesitated before putting it back on and just looked at it for a long moment.

 

_If I never hear your name again, it's all the same to me_.

 

Still holding the ring, she wandered into the living room, ready to turn off the record player. There she caught sight of her wedding picture again, and squeezed the ring painfully in her fist.

 

_We have some big ceremony to commemorate the start of a marriage. But the end of one is so anti-climactic._

 

> The story's in the past with nothin' to recall
> 
> I've got my life to live and I don't need you at all

 

_It’s the end that should have some ceremony_ , she thought, _Some sort of announcement or closure_.

 

> The roller-coaster ride we took is nearly at an end
> 
> I bought my ticket with my tears, that's all I'm gonna spend

 

Joyce headed into her bedroom and stood in front of the dresser. With her free hand she opened her jewelry box, and looked in the little mirror inside the box.

 

And she saw something there that she hadn’t seen in a long time.

 

_Maybe that’s just the wine. Or the music. Or wishful thinking._

 

She shook her head, casting the doubting voice away.

 

_No. It’s there. A spark. Something I thought was long gone_.

 

_And maybe that spark is enough._

 

Joyce dropped her wedding ring into the jewelry box and gently closed the lid.

 

\---

 

Jonathan was babbling. And he knew it. But he couldn’t stop.

 

“And the trick you were so impressed with, where I lie in bed and turn out the light with a fishing rod? I mean, Dad **_taught_** me that.”

 

Will had been nothing but welcoming. He had invited Jonathan inside and hadn’t even demanded the nonsense password. But Jonathan had started in with meaningless chit-chat, unwilling to address the things he had been thinking about all day.

 

_Instead I started rambling about nice memories of Dad. Just to prove that I have some, or something._

 

Jonathan gestured around them from where they sat on the pallet-bed, referring to all of Castle Byers, “And all of this? I mean none of this would have been possible if he hadn’t taught us something about building things.”

 

“He taught you about that?”

 

“Sure. Don’t you remember when he built the shed?”

 

Will shook his head.

 

“Or when we worked on that dog-house for Chester?”

 

“I’ve seen it on the other side of the shed, but it doesn’t look finished.”

 

Jonathan shook his head. “You’re right. We never finished it. Dad kind of lost interest and I didn’t want to work on it all by myself. But maybe you and I could finish it up?”

 

Will looked up and asked, “Castle Chester?”

 

“Yeah, but only if you want to.” Jonathan raised his hand to the back of his head and chewed on the corner of his lip. “I mean, I feel like we made a pretty good team.” He gestured around himself again. “For this.”

 

Will looked down briefly, but then nodded and said shyly, “We did. Thanks again. All the guys were pretty impressed.”

 

Jonathan racked his brain trying to think of other nice memories of Dad, or ways in which their Dad was undeniably cool.

 

Dad never really helped Jonathan with his paper route, but he did seem to respect Jonathan for getting a job and doing it well. And the one thing Dad was really good for was tagging along when Jonathan had to try to collect from the customers who avoided paying for their subscription. Jonathan smiled. Maybe it wasn’t something to really be proud of, but it did make him laugh.

 

“Y’know what else Dad did for me?”

 

“What?”

 

“You know how I have to collect for the paper?”

 

Will nodded.

 

“And you’ve heard me complain about how some of the houses on my route never pay up? They always say they don’t have any cash and don’t have their checkbook handy?”

 

Will nodded again. “Sure and then you have to keep going back.”

 

“Exactly. Well sometimes when I would complain about that, Dad would get **_so_** mad at grown-ups who would 'stiff a kid' as he put it. So he volunteered to drive me around for the collections.”

 

“He did?”

 

“Yeah, it was winter too, so that might have been part of it. But showing up with Dad standing behind me at the door made some of the ‘penny pinching, rich bitches’ as Dad called them, pay up **_real_** fast.”

 

Will looked scandalized. “He said that?”

 

“Yeah. In the car. At the doors he let me do all the talking. He just stood behind me scowling and smoking. I’d never seen some of those people reach for their wallets and purses quite so fast all the **_other_** times I tried to collect.”

 

Will frowned. “Is Mike’s Mom a ‘rich bitch’?”

 

Jonathan chuckled and shook his head. “Maybe in Dad’s mind, but not to me. Mrs. Wheeler always has a check written out in advance and usually gives me a tip, or at least a cookie or something.”

 

Will nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes I think Mrs. Wheeler is out to feed the world. One Byers at a time.”

 

There was a lull in the conversation as they both considered that, and Jonathan knew this was a perfect time to stop the babble-train and to start to talk about something real. But he just couldn’t. They were talking about Dad and they were both smiling. No disagreeing. No fighting. No bad feelings.

 

“And he taught us how to ride our bikes. Mom could never do it, she was always too worried about us getting hurt or something.”

 

Jonathan looked over at Will and saw his brother was shaking his head slightly. “What?”

 

“Why are you talking about all this, Jonathan?”

 

Jonathan shrugged. “I just didn’t want you to think that I didn’t have any good memories of Dad or something. Or that I hate him.”

 

“I never thought that. You never said that.” Will couldn’t quite meet Jonathan’s eyes. “You only said that you were glad he was gone and that you didn’t want to see him again.”

 

“Will, I . . .”

 

“No. It’s okay. Some of the things you just said weren’t true anyway.”

 

“What do you mean? I wasn’t lying.”

 

“Maybe not. But Dad never showed me how to build anything. When we built Castle Byers I was just copying you. And not even very well. Dustin said I couldn’t hammer for shit.”

 

Jonathan laughed then. “Well your hammering **_could_** use a little work. We’ll practice when we finish off Castle Chester. You’ll be a pro once we’re finished.”

 

Will nodded but didn’t return Jonathan’s smile. “And he never taught me to ride my bike either.”

 

Jonathan frowned. “Sure he did, I remember him swearing up a storm while he was putting on the training wheels. . . “

 

Will was shaking his head adamantly. “That was with **_you_**. Not me. **_You’re_** the one who taught **_me_** how to ride a bike.”

 

Jonathan remembered immediately that this was true. He recalled the endless bike ride to the grocery store that took **_so_** long because Will had been so nervous and hesitant on the bike, even with the training wheels on. Jonathan wanted to interrupt and to admit that Will was right, but since Will had picked up a head of steam himself, Jonathan didn’t feel it was the right time.

 

“You got out your old bike that still had the training wheels on it, and you sat me on it, and you told me it was just like peddling my Big Wheels. And then we rode down to Bradley’s Big Buy. And once we were there we shared a soda.”

 

Jonathan nodded. “And I said now that you weren’t such a baby, that the whole town should watch out for the Byers Brothers . . .”

 

Will finished, “Because now we could go wherever we wanted.”

 

Jonathan smiled warmly at his brother. “That’s a nice memory Will. I’d almost forgotten that.”

 

Will’s eyes filled with tears then, and as Jonathan studied him, he could tell Will fought the urge to look down. Will succeeded in his struggle and brought his face up to meet Jonathan’s gaze. The cost of this was a tear escaping from each eye and rolling lazily down Will’s face. “All my memories with you are good ones, Jonathan.”

 

Jonathan blushed. Now he was the one who looked away.

 

“And I’m glad you have some good memories of Dad.” Will swiped at his face. “I am. But I don’t have a lot of them. Maybe that’s why I still want to see him.”

 

Will shrugged then and gave what Jonathan interpreted to be an apologetic look.

 

“Maybe I just want the chance to get some of those happy memories. Of him.”

 

_Damn_ , thought Jonathan, _How is it my **baby** brother is more ready for real talk than I am?_

 

Jonathan steeled himself and hoped he could find the words to communicate how he was feeling, and what he had been thinking about all day.

 

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Jonathan admitted. “All day actually. It gave me something to think about once the inserts came and I was working on the papers.”

 

Jonathan knew that there were two messages he had to convey to Will, to make things okay again. First, that no matter what Jonathan wanted, Will could have whatever type of relationship with Dad he wanted to. And second, that Jonathan would always be there for Will.

 

“You can still have a relationship with Dad if you want to, Will.”

 

Will looked up at him, searching Jonathan’s face. He asked in a tiny voice, “I can?”

 

“Yes. If you want to. And I **_won’t_** get in the way of that, I promise. And I’ll try to stop bad mouthing him so much around you. That’s shitty.”

 

“You promise?”

 

“Yes. I promise. **_Your_** relationship with Dad doesn’t have to be **_my_** relationship with Dad.”

 

Will looked relieved, and Jonathan almost stopped there. But he couldn’t.

 

“But that works both ways. **_You_** have to do something for **_me_** too.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“You have to let me . . .” Jonathan raised his hands heavenwards, struggling to find the right words. “You have to let me let him go. I don’t think this can ever be fixed. And if it can be, **_you_** can’t be the one to fix it.”

 

Will nodded, unsmiling. “And you have to **_want_** to let it be fixed.”

 

“I guess that’s true.”

 

Will sighed. “And you don’t **_want_** it to be fixed?”

 

Jonathan echoed Will’s sigh. It was hard to admit, but it was true. “No. I don’t. At least not right now.”

 

“Because he’s **_nothing_** to you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But why?”

 

This was what Jonathan had been thinking about all day. Going over and over in his mind. Was this something he should talk about with Will or not? Jonathan didn’t think Will remembered any of Dad’s more physical outbursts, but he couldn’t be sure of that. Will had spouted off a bunch of pretty vivid memories today: the hunting trip with Dad and learning to ride a bike. So maybe Will remembered more than Jonathan gave him credit for.

 

_But I can’t talk to him about this, because I need to protect him_.

 

But maybe that was wrong. Maybe protecting Will physically and protecting him from the truth were two different things.

 

_Maybe I need to tell him my reasons, so he doesn’t think I’m a heartless monster who just throws people away. I think **that’s** what he’s afraid of. And that’s why he asked me for a list._

 

Jonathan wanted to start slowly. He gave Will a nervous smile and asked, “You know what a treasure is right?”

 

“Like buried treasure?”

 

“Sure, but like in real life. Like something you want to protect and keep forever.”

 

Will nodded uncertainly.

 

“Like that seashell you won off Dustin that you keep by your bed? If I took that and broke it, you would be sad right?”

 

“Yeah. He bet me his bike. But I took that shell instead.” Will smiled at the memory. “I want to see the ocean someday, too.”

 

Jonathan smiled to himself.

 

_Of course you wouldn’t take his bike_ , thought Jonathan. _You don’t make bets you don’t think you’re going to win. And you never take something from someone that they aren’t ready to give up. Mom taught us that._

 

“Well Dad had a treasure once too.”

 

“He did?”

 

“Yeah,” Jonathan said, getting lost in his memories. “It was this baseball ashtray but it was special somehow. To celebrate a pennant or a world series or something. Maybe it was even rare. Or old.”

 

“I don’t remember that.”

 

“Do you remember the day that I broke it? I was goofing around with my Hot Wheels and I knocked it over and it smashed into a million pieces.”

 

Will shook his head.

 

“No? Well, you were little.”

 

Jonathan felt dreamy then, as if his memory wasn’t real. It was just a story. And it hadn’t happened to him. Sometimes when he thought about interactions he had with Dad over the years, that’s all they seemed like. Stories. Things that had happened to someone on TV.

 

_And not to me_.

 

“And I think the noise of it breaking and Dad’s shouting scared you. And then Mom took you out of the room, which was probably good.”

 

Jonathan felt heat on his cheeks then, and his eyes burned with unshed tears. And he wanted to look away from his brother’s guileless expression. But he needed to face this. And face Will while he said it.

 

“And Dad’s treasure? It was well and truly busted. Broken into pieces so small it could never be put back together again.”

 

“Like my window.”

 

“What?”

 

“Last summer? When my window broke?”

 

“Yeah, I remember.”

 

“I’ve been feeling like that all week. Shattered beyond repair.”

 

Jonathan nodded. He could understand that. “Just like that. And I admit it, Will. It was totally my fault. And there was no fixing it.”

 

Jonathan paused then and took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing.

 

“Dad hit me that day, Will. More than once. Over a **_thing_**.”

 

Will’s reaction was immediate. His face fell and his eyes opened wide.

 

“A thing he probably doesn’t even remember anymore. That was the day, Will. That was the day I realized that’s all **_I_** was to him. Some **_thing_**. One piece of his property.” Jonathan shook his head as the tears came, and he laughed right through them, incredulous.

 

“Just a thing. And not even his favorite thing, ‘cause I broke that.”

 

Will looked at him sadly, and murmured, “Jonathan.”

 

“And I thought I deserved it at the time. ‘Cause I broke his treasure. And it took me a long time to realize what was so wrong about that. **_We_** should have been his treasure, Will. You and me. Not some piece of shit ashtray. You know how I know that?”

 

Will still looked shocked and scared, but slowly shook his head.

 

“Because that’s what **_you_** are to **_me_**. Something I want to protect and keep forever.” Jonathan sighed heavily and wiped a hand roughly across his cheek. “And that’s what we are to Mom.”

 

Jonathan couldn’t stop the lecturing tone in his voice as he looked down at Will. “That’s how it **_should_** be.”

 

Will looked over at him and tried again, “Jonathan. . .”

 

Then Will got up on his knees as if he was going to move toward Jonathan.

 

Jonathan held up his hand. “No. It’s okay. You asked for a list. There isn’t one.”

 

Then Jonathan was speaking too fast and shaking his head. He knew he was babbling again, but he couldn’t stop himself. And he found he didn’t even want to. All he wanted to do at that moment was let it all out, here in the safety of Castle Byers, where no adults were allowed without the special password. So he barreled on.

 

“There are a lot of people in my life who look at me as if I’m not really there. At school. In town. And I can deal with that. I do. But not **_him_**. He doesn’t get to treat me like that and then demand respect. He made me feel like **_garbage_**. And I don’t know if he meant to or not, but he did.”

 

And his babbling slowed then, and he sniffed, blinking back fresh tears. He was still hurt, still angry, even after all this time.

 

“He **_did_**.”

 

And then Jonathan looked—really looked--at his little brother kneeling across from him. Will was crying along with Jonathan and anxiously bouncing his fist against his thigh. And he looked so little and so scared. Jonathan chided himself for forgetting the other part of his message he needed to make Will understand. More than **_anything_** else.

 

So he took a deep breath and tried to smile at Will.

 

“But **_you_** don’t make me feel that way, Will. And Mom doesn’t. And I promise I’m not going to make a habit of throwing people away. Not people who notice me, and care about me. Not people who make me feel like I matter.”

 

Then Will was shuffling forward, and thrusting himself into Jonathan’s arms. And Will was blubbering, and saying, “You matter. You matter.”

 

Over and over.

 

Jonathan held Will tight, until he settled down. Then Jonathan held him at arms length, so he could see Will’s face.

 

“And maybe you’re right. Our family **_is_** broken now into pieces. Just like that ashtray. Just like your window. And maybe it’s time you learned that some things can’t be put back the way they were. Some things can never be made right. Can you understand that?”

 

Will nodded at him.

 

“All we can do is pick up the pieces that are still there and go on. And that’s us, Will. You and me and Mom. **_We’re_** the pieces. And we can still be a family.”

 

Then Jonathan pulled Will back into an embrace. He vividly remembered their earlier fight and how he had wanted to hug Will and shake him all at the same time.

 

And Will was small enough and light enough, and Jonathan was strong enough that he could easily shake Will back and forth during their hug.

 

So he did.

 

And he kept doing it until Will was giggling. It didn’t take long before Will was outright laughing.

 

And then Jonathan was laughing too.

 

\---

 

Joyce didn’t know exactly what she expected to find once she reached the little shack to bring the boys back home.

 

But as dusk faded quickly to dark, and she listened to their laughter echoing out of the “Castle,” she couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

 

_That sounds a **lot** better than what I was picturing._

 

She approached the structure and said, loudly enough for them to hear her over their mirth, “Knock knock! Can I come in?”

 

“Come in!” Will yelled.

 

Joyce pushed the bedsheet “door” aside and took in the pair of them seated on a little pallet-bed that hadn’t been there the last time she had visited.

 

Will was excited. “Look, Mom, I decorated and everything. And the guys brought me all this stuff.”

 

Will got up and was flitting around the little room. “These cushions and this flyswatter and this dreamcatcher and they helped me put up my artwork and make more signs.”

 

He stopped and looked up at her hopefully, Joyce interpreted this as, “What do you think?”

 

She smiled down at him, so happy he was excited, but even happier that he was talking with her, even if it was only about Castle Byers.

 

“It looks amazing, honey. You guys really put a lot of work in today.”

 

Will nodded as he surveyed his little kingdom proudly, almost as if he couldn’t believe it was all his.

 

Joyce took this chance to take a good look at both the boys. They looked tired and raw, and the fear she had harbored of them refusing to come back home like they had on Tuesday night evaporated instantly. They both looked wiped out. And they had to be hungry. It had been a long day for everyone.

 

“Did all your friends make it? We never saw Lucas or Dustin.”

 

Will nodded. “They all came. Lucas brought a flag.”

 

As if the flag reminded him, Will got up and tried to drag Jonathan with him. “You guys have to see the new signs and the flagpole.” Jonathan was far too big to be moved by Will, but he amiably let himself be “pulled” to his feet and towards the exit.

 

Joyce held the bedsheet and they all exited the hut to admire the signs and the flag as best they could in the semi-darkness.

 

Joyce was mildly surprised she hadn’t seen anything of the four boys all afternoon. She expected them to show up for more food or at least for a bathroom break.

 

It made her wonder where they were all going to the bathroom, but then she looked around at the sparse trees and sighed.

 

_Best not to think too much about that._

 

It’s why Joyce had never really shared Lonnie’s interest in camping.

 

_I love indoor plumbing too much._

 

She watched as Will pointed out a crooked sign on the side of the castle.

 

_But I guess it’s easier for boys. Point and shoot._

 

“You guys?” Joyce called over to them. “Can you come here for a minute? I have something I want to talk to you about.”

 

They exchanged a look, but then jogged over. After talking to Karen, Joyce was convinced that it was okay to show the boys how she was feeling. And she hoped that maybe, by doing so, it would help them open up too.

 

John’s lyrics echoed through her mind yet again.

 

> When I was younger, so much younger than today
> 
> I never needed anybody’s help in any way
> 
> But now these days are gone and I'm not so self assured
> 
> Now I find I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors

 

Joyce’s dark voice had started the day by telling her that asking your own children for help was the very definition of failing as a parent. Now Joyce wasn’t so sure.

 

_Maybe asking your kids for help is okay. Maybe everyone in a family should be able to ask for what they need. Maybe that’s what being a family means._

 

They gathered around her expectantly.

 

“I need to ask you both for a favor. I need your help.”

 

“With what?” Will asked softly.

 

She reached out to ruffle Will’s hair. “For you, it’s for you to come back. You had a nice little vacation. From school and me and life. But now I need you to come back. We have a lot we need to talk about and decide. Together. Do you think you can do that?”

 

Will nodded, and Joyce was glad that he didn’t immediately apologize. Instead he said, “I’m back, Mom.”

 

“Thank you.” Then she turned to Jonathan, knowing this would be a little more confrontational, but knowing it needed to be said. “And as for you, Jonathan. It would really be a help to me if you would take a little break from tearing your Dad down all the time. At least in front of me. I’m not telling you how you should feel and I understand where you’re coming from, but the truth is I‘m . . . **_mourning_** the loss of my marriage. And that’s something that I’ve had for a long time. For longer than I’ve had either of you. And it was important to me. Can you understand that?”

 

Jonathan nodded. “Yes, Mom.”

 

“And it’s okay to talk about the bad things sometimes. Maybe we **_need_** to do that. But, at least for tonight, can we not harp on the bad things? There were good things too.”

 

She reached out a hand to touch both of them for emphasis. “Like the two of you.”

 

She took a deep breath and said brightly, “So what do you guys think of this plan? It’s getting dark, so why don’t we head on home?”

 

She favored Will with a smile. “Mrs. Wheeler brought over lasagna and a Tuna-Noodle casserole and something else so covered in breading I’m not even sure **_what_** it is.”

 

They both smiled.

 

“So I say we go back home and I show you how to cook all three of them and we eat whatever we want, as much as we want. And we can talk about this whole crazy week. Or the future. Or anything else you want to. What do you say?”

 

Will raised his hand quickly. “I call dibs on the lasagna.”

 

Jonathan glared at him. “Your stomach will burst if you eat all that. How about we share?”

 

“Dibs is dibs,” Will chuckled as he sprinted away from Castle Byers and back towards the path to the house.

 

Jonathan fell in alongside her as they followed Will at a more leisurely pace.

 

Jonathan tried to seem nonchalant. “So, have you heard from Dad?”

 

Joyce shook her head. “Not for a few days. I bet he’ll call or stop by soon.”

 

“We . . .”

 

Jonathan stopped walking, so Joyce did too.

 

“We’re going to live with you though, right? Not him? That’s like, **_decided_** , right?”

 

Joyce nodded her head. “Right. Like I said before, you’re going to live with me. There’s no question about that.”

 

Jonathan nodded. “Good.”

 

He started walking again and Joyce followed suit.

 

Then, eyes still on the path and Will ahead of them, Jonathan asked softly, “Why is Dad like that?”

 

Joyce thought she knew what he meant, but she didn’t want to guess or put words in his mouth, so she asked, “Like what, sweetie?”

 

Jonathan shrugged. “So angry.”

 

The shrug was supposed to convey disinterested teen-boy apathy, but his face gave him away. He was worried about something specific. So Joyce drew out the silence to see if he would continue. They walked in silence for a bit.

 

Finally, Jonathan asked, “Am **_I_** going to be like that?” His voice was so faint Joyce had to strain to hear him.

 

This time she drew inspiration from The Cyrkle lyrics as she crafted her reply.

 

> I think it's gonna be all right Yeah, the worst is over now

 

“I don’t think you will,” she said firmly. “I think sometime, a **_long_** time ago, somebody hurt your Dad. And maybe he was never able to recover from that. And maybe that’s why he’s so angry. But in my heart, I feel like **_we’re_** going to recover.” She looked over at him. “What do **_you_** think?”

 

Jonathan was nodding slowly. “Yeah. I’m not that angry. I think so too.”

 

Joyce leaned towards Jonathan and linked her arm with his as they walked.

 

Will turned around to see them walking arm in arm and raced back towards them. To Joyce he seemed like his old self again, mildly jealous of close contact where he was left out.

 

“What are you guys talking about?”

 

Jonathan un-linked his arm from hers and poked at his brother. “Mom said we could ask her questions, so it’s like Mom’s office hours.”

 

Will dodged away from Jonathan and asked, “What’s ‘office hours’?”

 

“At Junior High some of the teachers have office hours during lunch and study halls so you can go and ask them questions and get extra help.”

 

Joyce smiled to herself. As a Mom, she truly felt that every waking hour since they’d been born were her “office hours,” but she was more puzzled than annoyed by the analogy. She said, “I’m always trying to get you guys to talk. I feel like I’m always asking you guys questions around the dinner table.”

 

They looked at each other, smirking, then they looked at her and both responded at the same time, and in the same eye-rolling tone.

 

“We know, Mom.”

 

“You do that **_all_** the time.”

 

They sounded like the indulgent parents of a spoiled child and Joyce narrowed her eyes at their attempted role reversal.

 

_But maybe there were times at family dinners when they didn’t feel comfortable answering all my questions or posing questions of their own_. _Maybe that can change now that it’s just the three of us._

 

“You know, the truth is, now that I’m going to be working more hours at the store, regular family dinners may be a lot harder to come by in the future. So I’m not going to save my questions up for mealtimes. I’m just going to quiz you whenever I have the chance.”

 

Jonathan groaned dramatically, but made no other objection as they rounded the fire pit.

 

They continued to walk, Joyce between her boys. “And I don’t want you to save up your questions either,” she told them using her patient-but-serious voice. “I **_really_** want you guys to feel like we can talk about anything. Anytime you want. No topic is off limits.”

 

“Starting when?” Will demanded with a raised eyebrow.

 

Joyce winked at him. “Starting right now if you want.”

 

Will screwed up his face, and then asked in a rush, “Are we gonna haveta move?”

 

_The million dollar question,_ she thought. _It would be the smart thing to move. Pare down. Live within the new budget. Trade the huge mortgage payment for a more reasonable rent._

 

That was the sensible thing to do, she knew. If they stayed they could end up losing the house anyway if things didn’t go just right. And if they stayed money would be really tight. Uncomfortably so.

 

But the images of all that had happened in that house flooded her mind then. Lonnie carrying her and Jonathan over the threshold. Bringing home baby Chester. And then baby Will. All those birthdays and Christmas mornings and Halloweens. And the image of Will jumping all wet on the couch surfaced again, and after that all she could think of was the pop wisdom of the Monkees.

 

> Oh and our good times start and end,   
>  without dollar one to spend
> 
> But how much baby do we really need?

 

_We don’t need a lot. The boys have **never** needed a lot to be happy._

 

She looked around at both of them. “I’m presuming that if we have a choice that you both would rather stay in the house?”

 

They both nodded quickly.

 

“This really is our little place in the world, isn’t it?” Joyce said, gesturing up to the house as it came into view.

 

They nodded again.

 

“I’m with you guys. I’m not sure we’ll be able to stay forever, but I really think we should all fight, as a family, to try to stay here.”

 

“Yeah?” asked Will.

 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “You guys have to understand we are really going to be strapped for money if we stay. I’m going to need your help. Both of you.”

 

She tried to give them a stern look but they both were smiling so eagerly it didn’t really work.

 

“I mean it. Jonathan and I talked this morning about him learning how to cook.”

 

“You did?” asked Will.

 

“Yes. But you’re **_both_** going to have to learn. We’ll start tonight. You’re going to learn to pre-heat the oven and warm up casseroles.”

 

“What about a job?” Jonathan pressed.

 

“I’m going to sign those papers for you. And you can try to get a real job.”

 

“And if I get one I can quit the paper route?”

 

She nodded and ushered them to the front door.

 

“And Will, you’re going to have to help around the house more. And you’re going to have one big responsibility. You need to take care of Chester.”

 

Will nodded. “I will Mom, I promise.”

 

“Okay. That’s settled. We’re going to try to stay here for as long as we can. At least we’ll sink or swim as a family.”

 

“My turn with a question.” She turned to Will, “Did you have fun with your friends today?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“We didn’t hear a peep out of you all afternoon. I hope there was no fighting, no hurt feelings, no fat lips or bloody noses?”

 

Will shook his head hard enough to make his hair sway back and forth. “Nothing like that. Why?”

 

“Just checking,” Joyce said offhandedly. “I have to make my report to the Mom Spy Network.”

 

She watched Will closely as he started to nod, then did a double-take and looked up at her in astonishment. “How do **_you_** know about that?”

 

Joyce shrugged, grinning. “We would be a pretty bad spy network if we revealed our sources, wouldn’t we?”

 

She winked at Jonathan. “But they all liked your little shack?”

 

“Moooom,” Will drew out the word. “It’s not a shack. Call it Castle Byers.”

 

“Did you know that your Dad always called the house Castle Byers?” she asked Will. “I’m pretty sure that’s where you got the name for your fort.”

 

“He did?”

 

“Yep. The very first day we moved in we climbed that very porch, and I was holding Jonathan, and he picked us both up and carried me over the threshold and said ‘Welcome to Castle Byers’.”

 

“And where was I?” asked Will.

 

“Sweetie, we didn’t even have the **_idea_** of you yet. Jonathan was still a baby.”

 

They had reached the porch, and the boys jumped up on it. Joyce was about to join them but stopped when Will asked, “So you think I stole the name?”

 

“No. I’m just sure you’ve heard him say it before, even if you don’t remember that specific story. He wouldn’t mind you using the name. You guys made a wonderful Castle Byers all your own. When you show it to him, I’m sure he’s going to be proud. It’s the family name.”

 

“Handed down from father to son,” Will said and smiled absently.

 

“Exactly.”

 

Jonathan gestured up to the house and asked, “Is it still going to be Castle **_Byers_**? Are you going to change your name?”

 

Joyce had been thinking about this ever since Karen had asked her the same question. She looked at Jonathan and Will and felt a tightness in her chest.

 

_They’re the best part of Lonnie. Definitely. And maybe the best part of me too._

 

But she couldn’t say that. Even if she was certain it was true. Instead she said, “I think I’m going to stay a Byers.” She reached out to gently touch them both, Will on the head and Jonathan on the shoulder.

 

“I need to keep the same name as my boys.”

 

Will smiled up at her in a way that told her he was telling the truth. He **_was_** back. His sweet smile was as familiar and as welcoming as the front porch the boys stood on.

 

She looked over at Jonathan and the look on his face was more skeptical. She interpreted it to mean something like “Super sappy, Mom.”

 

He didn’t say anything like that though. He just disengaged from her touch, and held the door open for Will. “What should we pre-heat the oven to?”

 

“Three-hundred and seventy-five degrees.”

 

Chester rushed toward them woofing and barking a litany of “welcome home” greetings. Will grabbed Chester’s collar, laughing.

 

_We are home_ , Joyce thought, _This is **still** our home_.

 

Then, as she crossed the threshold, she heard Lonnie’s voice echoing from her memories

 

“A man’s home is his castle,” he had been fond of saying.

 

**_My_ ** _castle now._

 

_No,_ Joyce amended as she watched Jonathan and Will run for the kitchen, Chester at their heels, in a race to see who would get the dubious honor of getting to pre-heat the oven.

 

**_Our_ ** _castle now._

 

As she stood in the doorway, she let her mind drift one last time to Lonnie lifting his new family up with ease and saying, “Welcome to Castle Byers.”

 

Listening to the boys bicker and laugh from the kitchen, Joyce whispered, “Welcome to the new and improved Castle Byers.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the heaviest and the longest chapter by far. Thanks to anyone who made it all the way through. I really appreciate you taking the time.
> 
> Even after all these years I still have a lot of thoughts surrounding my feelings of abandonment, powerlessness, and self-hatred during my childhood. I also still have more emotions than you would think - decades removed from the events - about being hit as a child. This all seemed to translate remarkably well to the Stranger Things universe. It also made this the most risky chapter in terms of canon compliance. A return of Lonnie to the show, or a tossed-off line of dialogue, could put this in the realm of AU pretty quickly. This is why the exact timing is obscured and the specific reasons are only alluded to in the abstract. But as milestones in the lives of the characters I felt Lonnie leaving and the building of Castle Byers were two big ones. Way too big to ignore just due to fear of remaining canon compliant.
> 
> So, if you made it far enough to read this, and you have any thoughts, feedback or questions, hit me up in the comments. I love getting them.
> 
> Next week is the final chapter, which is set less than three months before S1E1. It's called: “The Last Summer Before”


	8. The Last Summer Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 1983.  
> The Party celebrates their last summer before Junior High with a tour of their favorite places in downtown Hawkins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the place I put chapter specific warnings that don't rise to the level of AO3's archive warnings:
> 
> Chapter Eight warnings:  
> Explicit language and crude humor throughout.
> 
> Mild description of period accurate pornographic magazines and videotapes and acknowledgment that young boys may be interested in such materials.
> 
> References to underage kids watching R-rated movies and the early education on adult topics that can result.

Dustin Henderson didn’t hear the knocking on his front door.

 

When the sound finally infiltrated his dreams, he tried to stay asleep and puzzle out exactly why there was a labor dispute going on at the Jellicle Ball. In his dream, there were all these kids in old-timey costumes and hand-crafted picket signs marching back and forth demanding seven-and-a-half cents more an hour. Meanwhile, the _**other**_ kids made up to be cats were prancing around, jockeying to see who would get picked to be reborn in the Heaviside Layer.

 

It was pandemonium.

 

But as soon as the soft, rhythmic knocking began again, Dustin knew he was well and truly awake and wouldn’t be able to stay in dreamland.

 

_Sure,_ he thought, _all the dreams when I’m taking a test I didn’t study for in a class I don’t remember taking –_ _ **those**_ _I can’t wake up from no matter how hard I try._

 

He rolled over in bed and looked at his alarm clock and seeing the late hour whispered to himself, “Son of a bitch!”

 

He dragged himself out of bed, clad only in his sleep shorts, and absently scratched at his peeling back. As he walked down the hallway, he continued his internal rant about dreams.

 

_But give me a dream crossover of_ _**The Pajama Game** _ _and_ _**Cats** _ _or one of those_ _**other** _ _types of dreams I_ _**don’t** _ _want to wake up from, and those disappear like a puffy white dandelion around a poorly timed sneeze._

 

“Stupid dreams,” he mumbled aloud, heading toward the front door.

 

The knocking paused, but restarted for what Dustin thought was the third time. The visitor wasn’t pounding on the door yet, which meant it probably wasn’t Lucas. And there was no yelling, which likely ruled out Mike.

 

_Elementary my dear Dustin_ , he thought as he suppressed a yawn, _it must be Will._

 

But just on the off chance he was wrong and it was the mailman or some random creeper, Dustin peeked out the window to make sure.

 

Dustin’s deductive powers proved correct because there stood Will. He stared at the door, one hand still raised clearly unsure about whether to start knocking again. Dustin noticed with fondness that Will was starting to sway back and forth.

 

_Which he only does when he’s nervous, or anxious._

 

_Which is like,_ _**always** _ _._

 

Dustin ran to the front door and yanked it open to greet his friend. He was immediately hit with a gust of warm outside air, which made the sunburned skin on his forehead, face and back miss the comfort of the cranked up air conditioning. He felt hot and sweaty just looking at Will, whose t-shirt already looked drenched from the short bike-ride over. Cut-off jean shorts and tennies with no socks was the outfit Will wore in an attempt to fend off the oppressive August heat.

 

“Will!” Dustin shouted, moving out onto the front step and grabbing his friend.

 

Will hugged Dustin back, all smiles. “Welcome home. I feel like I haven’t seen you forever.”

 

This was true. It felt like Dustin’s whole summer had been jam packed. He had been to one day camp and two sleepaway camps, plus a trip with Mom back to Wisconsin to see relatives. Dustin had just returned last night from his longest adventure yet, a two-and-a-half week sleepaway Theater Camp.

 

Glancing past Will, Dustin saw Will’s bike in the yard next to the driveway. And Will’s backpack was resting by his feet and looked packed full of _**something**_.

 

Will looked him up and down and then asked cautiously, “Did I wake you up?”

 

Dustin shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s time to get up anyway. Now get in here, and out of the heat. Mom always says we’re not paying to cool the whole neighborhood.”

 

Will hefted his backpack into the house and set it back down with an audible “thump.”

 

_What has he got in there anyway, bricks?_

 

Will left his backpack just inside the door and closed his eyes and ran his hand along the back of his neck. “Man, it’s nice in here.” He made a face. “Not even eleven yet and it’s already like a swamp out there.”

 

Dustin smiled and clapped Will on the shoulder, he knew that Will’s house didn’t have working central air. “That why you’re here early?”

 

Will nodded. “Yeah. With no breeze to speak of the whole house was starting to smell like wet dog.”

 

Will shrugged then, looking embarrassed. “Besides Mom and Jonathan both left for work, and I was alone.” Then he added brightly, “But I guess mostly I was just excited to see _**you**_ again. How was Drama Camp?”

 

“Theater Camp,” Dustin corrected automatically, “was _**awesome**_. C’mon, let’s grab something to eat.”

 

Will followed Dustin into the kitchen and Dustin proceeded to grab a box of Fruit Loops off the counter, open it, stick his hand in, and come up with a colorful handful which he stuffed into his mouth. He offered the box to Will, who grabbed some and started munching too.

 

Dustin yawned widely, and realized too late, as Will scrunched up his face, he was giving Will a gross view of the multi-colored Fruit Loops paste in his mouth. Dustin quickly covered his mouth and turned toward the fridge.

 

_I need a pick me up_ , he thought as he set down the cereal box and opened the fridge. As Dustin stared sleepily at the cans of soda, Will said, “It’s a good thing that I came and woke you up. The others will be here soon and Mike won’t like it if you’re not ready to go.”

 

Dustin rolled his eyes at this as he leaned into the fridge, letting the cool air soothe his burned nose and cheeks. Even after all these years, Dustin usually thought of Will as the “Good Cop” and was rarely annoyed with him. But there was one thing about Will that sometimes irritated Dustin.

 

_Will always sides with Mike. Like Will thinks that Mike is our_ _**actual** _ _leader or something. Which is nuts._

 

Dustin found a can of Mountain Dew and extracted it from the fridge. He turned and Will was looking at him expectantly, poised to head to Dustin’s bedroom. Dustin briefly felt another pang of annoyance, since Will reminded him of his Mother in that moment.

 

_Mom’s brand of parental enforcement is also cheerful pushing and prodding._

 

Everything in Will’s facial expression and posture communicated a cheery, “Let’s go and get ready as soon as possible” message. Dustin imagined himself just glaring dully back at Will, pulling the tab of the soda and taking a long leisurely chug of it. But he knew he wouldn’t do that. Just as he tried to avoid his Mom’s patented Disappointed Look, there was a part of him that wanted to avoid letting Will down too.

 

So Dustin grabbed the cereal box in his other hand and headed toward his room, Will on his heels.

 

_Besides_ , Dustin thought, _he does have a point about not getting Mike in a bad mood to start the day_.

 

Dustin had learned over the years if Mike wasn’t on board for a certain activity, he activated this shitty, petty part of his personality and he’d become this complaint-monster picking at every little thing. Lucas liked to call it the “If Mike Wheeler isn’t having any fun, then _**no one**_ is having any fun” phenomenon.

 

_Like it’s an unavoidable weather pattern or something, and not just Mike being a pissant who always wants his own way._

 

Dustin turned into his room and set the cereal and soda can on his desk. And then he caught sight of Will’s wide eyed, concerned expression.

 

Dustin stared blankly back at Will. “What’s up?”

 

Will gestured to Dustin’s bare back, his voice sympathetic. “Your back, it’s really burned. Does it hurt?”

 

Dustin smiled at Will’s mothering. “Yeah, duh! Lucas or Mike would have tested that out by slapping me on the back, y’know? So thanks for sparing me that.” Dustin pulled open the soda.

 

Mews was curled up on Dustin’s bed and Will sat gently beside her. “They wouldn’t do that.”

 

Dustin took a swig of the soda and was pretty impressed with himself when he narrowed his eyes and raised his eyebrows at Will in a challenging manner--all without stopping the infusion of sugar and caffeine.

 

Will tapped gently on Yertle’s habitat and waved at the snoozing turtle. Yertle opened one eye and stared at Will. He didn’t look impressed. Will chuckled, kicked off his shoes and folded himself next to Mews. He scrunched his lips together in thought, then conceded, “Well maybe Lucas would, but Mike wouldn’t do that.”

 

Dustin let out a big sigh of satisfaction after chugging his soda and shrugged. “You’re probably right,” he said, chuckling. “Mike prefers to hurt people with _**words**_ , not slaps.”

 

Dustin set down his sustenance, and rummaged around the floor looking for something to wear for the day. He grabbed his T-shirt from Theater Camp and the first cleanish pair of shorts he could find and started changing his clothes.

 

Dustin was tugging his shirt on gingerly to avoid as much sunburn pain as possible, when he heard Will giggle. He looked over at the bed.

 

Will was flat on his back while Mews sat on Will’s stomach with her front paws slightly stretched out towards Will’s breastbone.

 

Dustin smiled. Mews normally didn’t stick around when The Party was visiting. When they were all together they tended to be loud, and the cat normally made herself scarce. And Lucas had a terrible habit of picking her up all the time. Which Mews did not like _**at all**_.

 

Dustin helped himself to another handful of Fruit Loops and watched Will giggle and stare at the cat with a look of +10 Adoration. “Mews likes you.”

 

“Yeah?” Will turned his head towards Dustin and looked _**so**_ pleased at the thought.

 

“Sure. You’re gentle with her. She never gets that close to anyone but me and Mom.”

 

Will smiled. “Look, she’s doing mushy paws.”

 

“Mom calls that ‘making biscuits’, but I think the actual term is ‘kneading’,” Dustin observed sagely.

 

Will’s smile widened. “It tickles, a little. She’s purring now too.” Will gestured to the paws pushing against his chest. “Why does she do it?”

 

“I don’t really know,” Dustin admitted.

 

Will gave him a teasing look. “But I thought you knew everything?”

 

“I meant I don’t think _**anyone**_ knows. Not for sure. Kittens do it to their mom while they’re nursing, so some people think it’s just a leftover from that. Mom says it’s more like stretching, but some books say they do it to blankets and other soft things when they’re getting ready to sleep.”

 

Will looked satisfied and scratched Mews behind one ear. “See, I was right, you _**do**_ know everything.”

 

Dustin blushed, and muttered, “Shut up.” He stuck his arm into the box and fished around for more cereal. “If she starts to use her claws on you just throw her off.”

 

“She’s fine,” Will said firmly, rubbing her lightly under the chin. The purring grew louder. “Mews is sweet.” Then to the cat: “Aren’t you, girl?”

 

Dustin rolled his eyes and thought, _Beg to differ with you, bro. I lost count of how many times Mews has scratched the shit out of me_.

 

But Dustin had no desire to burst Will’s bubble, so instead he changed the subject. “Speaking of cats, I have to tell you about this great new musical I heard about at camp. It’s called ‘ _Cats’_. It’s based on T.S. Eliot’s poems and everyone is made up to look like a cat.”

 

Will looked intrigued. “Is that the play you guys got to do at camp?”

 

“No way. It’s too new. It’s still on Broadway right now. But a bunch of the counselors had seen it and some of the older kids had a copy of the cast recording. Some of them brought a bunch of soundtracks that we listened to. I bootlegged a few, but I didn’t think to bring many blank tapes with me.”

 

“So is _Cats_ any good?”

 

Dustin thought about how to answer based only on the music he’d heard and the descriptions from those who had seen it. “It’s sort of weird, I guess. Maybe because it’s based on poems or something, it doesn’t seem to have much story. Mike would hate it.”

 

“Have you ever read the poems?”

 

Dustin shook his head. “No. But I want to now. Just to compare.” Dustin went over to his unpacked bag from camp and started digging around in it. “Some of the kids sang some of the songs from _Cats_ and everything, during practice or free time. But one of the really cool things we did - in addition to putting on the musical at the end of camp for all the parents - was that we had these workshops on set construction, and costumes, and make-up. And for one of the make-up workshops . . .”

 

Dustin found what he was looking for in his duffel, and pulled out a few Polaroids.

 

“They did make-up and hair practice tests and made us up to look like the cats from the play.” Dustin walked over to the bed, “Take a look.”

 

Will gently half-lifted, half-nudged Mews back onto the bed and sat up to take the pictures.

 

Dustin smiled as Will studied the pictures of him made up in orange, white, and black, while a wig formed a huge mane surrounding his head. Dustin knew it made him look like a giant tabby cat. In one of the pictures the counselor had told Dustin to make an angry face like he was hissing, and Will laughed at that one. Finally, as Will flipped to the one where Dustin was smiling his widest smile, Will tilted his head and smiled too. Dustin thought for a moment that Will looked a little sad, or jealous or something, but Will brightened quickly and said, “That looks amazing. It looks like you had _**so**_ much fun.”

 

“We did,” Dustin nodded, taking the pictures back.

 

“If you didn’t get to perform _Cats,_ what was your big musical?”

 

“Ugh,” muttered Dustin, shaking his head as he put the pictures away. “It was called ‘ _The Pajama Game’_.”

 

Will wiggled his eyebrows at Dustin. “ _The Pajama Game_ , huh? Sounds like a play full of sexytimes.”

 

Dustin laughed. He couldn’t help it. Will was such a contradiction sometimes. He never scolded the rest of The Party about their constant swearing, but Dustin was pretty sure he had never heard Will say “fuck” in his life. And if Will was forced to describe a situation in a story or movie or TV show that was romantic or would lead the others to refer to “fucking” or “screwing” or “fooling around,” he always referred to it abstractly as “sexytimes”. On the one hand it was so childish, but on the other hand Will said it with such a knowing smile, it often led Dustin to wonder where that knowledge came from.

 

_I guess that’s the bonus you get from having an older brother_.

 

Dustin had laughed a little too long, because now Will was staring at him and no longer smiling. “What’s so funny?”

 

Dustin didn’t mean to laugh at Will or make fun of him, but there was a reason Dustin was laughing that didn’t have anything to do with Will’s choice of words.

 

“ _The Pajama Game_ is pretty much the opposite of sexytimes, Will. It’s basically about a labor dispute and the importance of unions. One of the songs is essentially about how a small hourly raise can have long-term positive effects. It goes through what seven-and-a-half-cents an hour can buy you after enough time. It may be interesting to someone like Mike’s Dad or something, but you would have been bored.” Dustin rolled his eyes. “I was bored and I was in it!”

 

Will looked confused. “Then why is it called _The Pajama Game_ then? That’s misleading.”

 

“It’s set at a pajama factory, that’s all. Nothing sexy about it.”

 

Will looked disappointed. “Oh. Well, I’m still sorry we couldn’t come see your play.”

 

“Don’t be. Camp was far away, and the older kids had all the good parts. I was one of the youngest, and we were all just in the chorus, anyway. What did _**you**_ guys all do while I was gone?”

 

Will looked deflated again. “Not much,” he admitted. “Lucas had his family trip, and Mike and I just hung out. He actually kept us occupied with planning and prepping for the big outing today.”

 

Dustin nodded along. Lucas had left on his big family driving trip before Dustin had even left for Theater Camp.

 

“But what about your Dad, though? I thought you were going to go to the ballgame, or something.”

 

Will looked down and then away, and slowly shook his head. “No, it ended up that he couldn’t make it.”

 

Dustin could tell that Will was trying to keep his disappointment from showing.

 

_He’s actually pretty good at plastering a smile on his face, but his voice and posture give him away._

 

“Sorry, man.”

 

Will shrugged. “That’s okay. I got to hang out with Jonathan until he had to go to work, and he introduced me to all this new music. It was cool.”

 

Will brightened and flashed Dustin a mischievous smile. “Then Mom slipped me some ‘guilt money’ and I got to treat Mike to a movie.”

 

Dustin handed the box of cereal over to Will. “What did you guys see?”

 

Will grabbed a handful and mumbled around the food: “ _Jedi_ again.”

 

Dustin nodded approvingly. “Nice.”

 

_Return of the Jedi_ had come out last May and there had been a line around the block. The Party had seen it together on opening weekend. It was the ending to an epic story which they had all been obsessed with for years. They had been fixated on the last movie in the trilogy all summer. And scrounging up enough money to see _Jedi_ multiple times was more than just a way to beat the summer heat. It was a necessity.

 

Aside from a really weird moment at the end with the potato-faced Ghost Vader, which made Dustin annoyed, he had loved the movie. One highlight for sure had been Leia in what amounted to a gold-plated bikini. Those scenes gave Dustin a lot of thoughts the whole summer, including some of those dreams he wished he could stay in a little longer.

 

They had all been excited about the film, and their enthusiastic post-movie discussions continued for days after the weekend matinee.

 

_It’s weird to think how_ _ **Return of the Jedi**_ _was the one thing that nearly broke The Party in two_ , Dustin thought.

 

Normally, The Party could argue about anything and everything, but it was usually pretty academic and didn’t really mean anything. Much less lead to any real fighting or threaten to split them apart. Prior to _Return of the Jedi,_ the great Cola War of 1982 was the only thing that ever threatened to really tear The Party asunder.

 

The cause of this summer’s civil war could be summed up in one word.

 

Ewoks.

 

Will and Dustin liked them; Mike and Lucas hated them.

 

Even on their first viewing of _Jedi_ , Lucas expressed a savage critique on the way home from the theater. “Teddy bears to the rescue? _**Lame**_!”

 

They had seen the movie multiple times together now, and Mike and Lucas still hated the Ewoks and howled in rage when the Ewok song started. In a rare instance where Will didn’t automatically side with Mike, Dustin and Will had settled themselves squarely in the pro-Ewok camp and had remained there all summer.

 

Mike and Lucas had started as mildly anti-Ewok, but as their discussion wore on and they re-watched the film, their hatred for the Ewoks grew.

 

Dustin didn’t want to tell Mike or Lucas he liked the Ewoks just because they were cute, but Dustin secretly thought that might be Will’s _**whole**_ reasoning. For Dustin, the triumph of the underdog was a big part of it. Add to that the comedy of C3PO as a god and little Wicket wobbling around menacing folks with his spear, and the whole package just brought a smile to Dustin’s face.

 

The argument was serious enough, and they had seen the movie enough times now, that Will and Dustin were able to get a lot of the Ewok song down. Since Lucas and Mike hated it so much, Will and Dustin had taken to using the song to annoy them, humming it under their breath to get a rise out of their friends.

 

Dustin took the cereal back from Will. “So did seeing _Jedi_ again re-ignite the great Yub Nub debate?”

 

Will laughed and shook his head. “No. When you and Lucas aren’t there, Mike doesn’t go out of his way to pick fights.”

 

Dustin beckoned for Will to follow him back into the living room. “Not even for The Party-dividing Ewok War?”

 

Will grabbed his shoes. “No. That wasn’t even our biggest fight, anyway.”

 

“You think?”

 

“I _**know**_. The Cola War was way worse.”

 

Now it was Will’s turn to roll his eyes. He added under his breath, “And _**way**_ stupider.”

 

“Hey, I take my Cola very seriously.”

 

Will sighed, and then gave Dustin an indulgent smile. “I _**know**_ Dustin. You and Mike taking Cola ‘seriously’ was how that all started. We get it. You and your family prefer Pepsi. The Wheelers prefer Coke. We _**get**_ it.” He patted the air in a “there, there” gesture.

 

“It wasn’t really a war until you and Lucas had to bust in with your off the wall arguments. I mean really? Sometimes I think Lucas just likes to argue. Why else would he introduce RC into the mix?”

 

Will furrowed his brows at Dustin but followed along to the living room in silence.

 

“I mean the guy didn’t have a leg to stand on. Even he had to admit in the end that RC tastes too purple.”

 

Finally Will couldn’t stand it anymore and shook his shoes at Dustin. “What does that even _**mean**_?”

 

Dustin flopped down onto the loveseat. “You remember the taste test. RC has this grape soda aftertaste. Blech! Besides, _**you**_ were the one who escalated the war anyway, by saying that it was all just packaging and that the store brand was just as good. And _**then**_ you bet us that we couldn’t even tell the difference in a taste test anyway. _**You**_ were the one who turned it into a full-blown war.”

 

Will stood in the middle of the living room and just looked at Dustin, “Did I? That’s not how I remember it.”

 

Will’s expression shifted, it was a look Dustin had seen before and was always curious about.

 

_Maybe I just watch too many cartoons,_ thought Dustin, _but Will has his gears-grinding face on right now_.

 

Dustin’s fondness for cartoons had rubbed off on him in some strange ways. He definitely thought each of his friends had a look or expression or just an aura about them that Dustin could most easily describe by referring to how cartoon characters were depicted.

 

With Mike it was the lightbulb going off above his head whenever he thought he had a good idea.

 

_He thinks_ _ **every**_ _idea he has is a good idea. That’s a lot of bulbs_.

 

With Lucas it was when he got angry. He made a face like steam was going to shoot out of his ears to keep him from exploding with rage.

 

_He looks at me like that a_ _**lot** _ _. I wonder if I should be more scared of him?_

 

With Will it was like he was right now. Silent. Thinking. Dustin often got the impression Will was always watching and thinking about something. Even when Will wasn’t upset and turtling into himself, he rarely shared his thoughts without prompting. Dustin knew Will was smart in his own way, but he seemed less inclined to feel the need to prove it like Dustin or to say every thought that came into his head, like Mike. Dustin equated this to when the Coyote was really thinking about how to trap Road Runner and the inside of his head was shown, all clicking and whirring with moving gears.

 

Dustin was honestly curious what Will meant, so he let his face settle into a neutral expression and asked, “How do you remember it, then?”

  
Will just stared at him, giving Dustin a look that clearly meant, “Do you really want to know?”

 

“No, really,” said Dustin, “Lay it on me.”

 

“What I remember is you and Mike getting so heated about Cola brands and about whose family was right that you were to the point of banning him from your house” Will slipped one shoe on. “And he was close to doing the same.”

 

“So?”

 

“So, _**I**_ tried to change the fight to whether or not you guys could even tell the difference between the sodas anyway.” Will slipped his other shoe on and grinned up at Dustin. “And it worked.”

 

“Not really, we both totally passed the taste test.”

 

Will chuckled. “I figured you would. But the best brand of Cola turned into who had the best family or the best house to hang out in.”

 

Will continued more softly, as he pulled at his shoelace. “People’s feelings were getting hurt. But when I made the bet about the taste test, that all stopped. Suddenly it was all about planning a blind taste test.”

 

Dustin nodded. “And winning the bet. I see what you did there.”

 

“And that’s why the Cola War was worse than the Ewok War.”

 

Now that he had Will talking, Dustin didn’t want it to stop. Will had an interesting perspective on things and definitely thought about things that didn’t even occur to Dustin.

 

“And Ewoks don’t cause hurt feelings? Are you _**sure**_? I feel like every time we sing 'Yub Nub' to them, they’re about to cry or scream.”

 

Will laughed. “No way. Mike and Lucas, they just . . . I think they just want to seem older.”

 

“And above it, right? They’re _**above**_ teddy bears to the rescue?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“And why do you like the Ewoks so much?”

 

“I dunno.” Will shrugged. “I guess ‘cause they show that even the smallest member of the team has a part to play.”

 

Dustin nodded in agreement. “Orsik can vouch for that.”

 

Will smiled. “I can too.”

 

Dustin shook his head in amazement.“I still can’t believe you couldn’t tell any of the Colas apart though.”

 

Will scoffed. “Yes, it’s a shame that haunts my family to this day.“

 

“Really?”

 

Will rolled his eyes. “No. I don’t _**get**_ a lot of soda, Dustin, you know that. It _**all**_ tastes like sugary goodness to me.”

 

Dustin smiled and stood to hand Will his Mountain Dew. “Well, have some sugary goodness then, if you don’t mind my backwash.”

 

Will shot Dustin a lopsided smile. “Wouldn’t your backwash be full of Fruit Loops? That just _**adds**_ to the sugary goodness in my book. “

 

Will raised the soda can as if he was toasting Dustin, and then brought it to his lips. Dustin watched with amusement as Will chugged the soda greedily, finishing it off in one go.

 

“Guess I should have offered you some before, huh?”

 

Will shrugged and smiled. “You got there eventually.” Will inclined his head toward the window. “Why is your telescope out here?” He wagged his eyebrows, somehow conveying the word “sexytimes” without saying it aloud. “Was Katie sunbathing in her backyard again?”

 

_Busted_ , Dustin thought.

 

He admitted sheepishly, “I wish. No. I just left that out to remind me that I want to get some stargazing in some night this week. My Mom got me a new Astronomy book, and once school starts, my ability to stay up late whenever I want will disappear. You wanna come with me again?”

 

Will often accompanied Dustin when he broke out his telescope. Will often sketched the constellations they saw in his sketchbook, like a bird watcher recording his sightings.

 

“Duh. Let’s do it. You gonna ask the others?”

 

Dustin sighed. “We should.” Then he smirked. “Let’s just hope they say ‘no’.”

 

Will smiled. “Mike won’t come. He says stargazing is about as fun as fishing.”

 

The other members of The Party had joined them from time to time, but Lucas could never keep still for any length of time, and Mike got bored quickly. So a lot of the time, it was just the duo of Dustin and Will.

 

Dustin knew why he liked looking at the stars. _Star Wars_. _Star Trek_. _The Legion of Super-Heroes_. Dustin was sure there was so much life out there. So much to see and explore. So much to learn.

 

Dustin felt Will was the perfect companion during stargazing. He was quiet and thoughtful and he gave Dustin lots of opportunities to explain what they were seeing.

 

“Let’s just keep it the two of us then,” Dustin suggested.

 

“Sure, but what made you dig out your telescope again now? We haven’t done this in a while.”

 

Dustin’s red face grew a few degrees brighter. “Well, I actually joined my Mom’s book club this summer.”

 

Will looked surprised , then amused. Dustin worried for just a second Will would tease him.

 

Instead, Will just asked, “You did? Isn’t that for adults?”

 

“Yeah, but I’m keeping up. Anyway, the book for July was _Space_ by James Michener.”

 

Will’s amusement turned to interest. “Was it any good?”

 

“Well, there were parts that were sort of boring and historical, but it had a lot in there about NASA and the ‘space race’ and it really got me pumped to dig out my telescope again.” Dustin’s voice sped up with excitement, “I mean, just think of it. Someday we could travel the stars. Visit a totally different world.”

 

Will nodded along with Dustin’s enthusiasm and his expression grew wistful.

 

Dustin had seen that same look every time they’d gone stargazing.

 

“You really like the stars too, huh?”

 

Will nodded, but remained silent.

 

“What do _**you**_ like about them?” Dustin asked, prodding his friend to speak.

 

Will cocked his head, thinking. “I dunno. I guess because they’re beautiful and still and quiet. But they’re bursting with power. So much that their light lingers even after they’re gone.”

 

_I’m not sure that’s exactly right_ , Dustin corrected automatically in his head. But Will was being more poetic than factual, and Dustin was just enjoying the talk, so he let it go. “Still and quiet, huh? Sorry that I’m always so loud.”

 

“You’re not too loud,” Will said immediately.

 

_Even when he’s contradicting someone, it’s more reassurance than correction._

 

Will favored Dustin with his shy smile. “I _**like**_ talking to you Dustin. I feel like I always learn something when I’m with you.”

 

Dustin puffed up with pride for just a moment. “Natch. I mean, isn’t everybody excited to learn something new every day?”

 

Will shrugged. “I don’t think most people are. And even if they are excited to learn something new I don’t think many people get quite as excited as _**you**_ do.”

 

Dustin didn’t know if he believed that. That seemed crazy. “That’s nutty. The best part of each day is learning something new. I mean, just think of how much we’ll know once we’re grown up.”

 

“But we’ll never know everything.”

 

“Nope,” agreed Dustin with satisfaction. “There’ll always be something new to discover.” He couldn’t wait.

 

Will nodded eagerly. “Just like space.”

 

They stood smiling at each other in satisfied silence for a moment. Then Dustin crinkled the bag inside the box of Fruit Loops, and put the cereal back on the kitchen counter. As he did, he called back over his shoulder, “So what can you tell me about this mysterious outing today?”

 

Will followed absently, “Well I’m not supposed to give it away. You know how Mike is. It’s all built up in his mind. The Party’s last adventure together in the last summer before Junior High.”

 

Dustin perked up. “So are we going somewhere cool?”

 

“I mean, no, not really. How far are we going to get on our bikes? But Mike did have some good ideas. I think the plan is to head downtown and to visit all of our favorite places in downtown Hawkins,” Will finished.

 

“And do what? Melt in the heat?”

 

“No.” Will smiled and counted off the goals on his fingers. “Hang out. Spend money. Eat Junk. Rent some videos. Head back to Mike’s for an all-nighter.”

 

Dustin nodded appreciatively. “Mike got permission for that? _**We**_ get the TV? **”**

 

Will nodded. “Yep. He radioed me last night that his Dad lugged the TV and the VCR down into the basement for us to use.”

 

That sounded good to Dustin.

 

_All night movie night where we can be as rowdy as we want? I’m in._

 

The two floors separating the basement from the Wheeler family bedrooms usually allowed them to be as noisy as they wanted, with very little possibility of getting yelled at.

 

Dustin reached into his back pocket and pulled out his Velcro wallet. “Spend money, huh?”

 

Dustin loved being in charge of the money for The Party. The Velcro opened with a satisfying ripping sound and he asked, “What kinda funds are we talking about here?”

 

Will hurried over to his backpack and opened the little front pocket. He returned with an oversized leather case with a metal snap fastener on the top.

 

“Woah,” marveled Dustin. “It’s like a super-sized coin purse.”

 

Will gave him a skeptical look and handed over the case. It was heavy with change. He said, “It’s a cigarette case. It’s supposed to carry a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and stuff. I swiped it from my Mom, since we had too much change to fit in my normal coin carrier.”

 

Dustin knew Will had a small plastic coin purse, the kind you squeezed on both ends to open, but from the weight of this alone, he could tell that there was too much change for that little thing. Dustin held it aloft and proclaimed, “I dub thee ‘Mega-Change-Purse’!”

 

Will smiled. “That’s me and Mike’s contribution for the adventure. We’re counting on you to make sure we don’t run out. You’re the keeper of the funds.”

 

“Sweet!” Dustin pulled the bills from his wallet and opened up the change purse to stuff them in. He was surprised by how many bills were already in there. “You guys went all out. There’s a lot of money here.”

 

“Well, like I said, Mike has some big plans for the day. Sorry about all the coins. The other day we tried to get the bank to change all of it into bills for us, but they wouldn’t do it since Mike’s parents weren’t with us.”

 

“Stupid bank.”

 

A pounding on the door made Dustin jump and he almost spilled all the coins out of the Mega-Change-Purse. He recovered quickly, snapped it shut, and set it down to answer the door.

 

Dustin opened the front door to find Lucas and Mike in mid-argument. Both of them were wearing backpacks, and Lucas was pointing to a round green sticker, which was stuck to one of the straps on Mike’s pack. The sticker had a cartoon frowny face with a tongue sticking out of its mouth.

 

Dustin recognized the sticker instantly. They had all been given some in school the prior year. They were called “Mr. Yuk” stickers and you were supposed to put them on things in the house that were poisonous to warn children away household cleaners and stuff.

 

“You know we were supposed to use those to like, help protect our baby sisters from poison, right?” Lucas said to Mike, “Not as backpack decorations?”

 

Then, in the same breath, he turned to Dustin. “Welcome back, man.” Lucas gave Dustin a friendly shoulder punch as he walked past his friend and into the house.

 

Mike followed Lucas inside, staring daggers at his back. “It’s not like I put it there! Holly has been sticking them everywhere.” Mike’s attitude and tone also turned on a dime as he raised one hand in greeting and said, “Hey, Will.”

 

“Or maybe Nancy just thinks little brothers are poisonous?” Will suggested to Mike.

 

Mike huffed in annoyance and pushed the hair off his sweaty brow. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

 

Lucas adjusted his tank top, and bounced on his heels, as he pulled off the backpack. “Those stickers don’t work anyway. Erica just thinks they’re scratch and sniffs, and heads right towards them. I found her scratching the crap out of the side of the Draino bottle the other night before supper.”

 

Dustin’s eyes widened, but Will looked truly alarmed.

 

“You told her not to drink it, right?” Will demanded.

 

Lucas lifted an eyebrow. “Sure. I told her it would ruin her appetite for supper and she should save the Draino for dessert.”

 

“Lucas!” Dustin shouted, appalled.

 

“I’m joking. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Then Lucas pulled a postcard from his backpack. “If you were trapped in the backseat of a car with Erica for weeks, you’d want to feed her a Draino Slurpee too.” Lucas handed Dustin the postcard. “Here’s your big souvenir from my F-cubed time.”

 

Dustin didn’t know what Lucas was talking about, “F-cubed?”

 

“F to the third power. Forced! Family! Fun! You’ll get more enjoyment out of that scenic postcard than I had on the whole trip. Check the back.”

 

Dustin turned the scenic postcard over and observed the notations on the back of the postcard. He nodded in understanding, and gave Lucas a knowing smile. “Still trying the same old moves, I see.”

 

Mike glanced over at Dustin’s postcard and pointed to himself and Will. “Neither of our postcards had any writing on it.”

 

Will sidled up alongside Dustin and squinted at the card. “Is that some type of code?”

 

Dustin smiled. “Kind of. Since we’ve all been separated so much this summer, Lucas and I have been playing chess by mail.” Dustin held up the postcard, “And this is his next move.” He leaned over and stage whispered to Will, “Lucas is really predictable.”

 

Lucas mirrored Dustin’s actions and leaned over to Mike. “The thing that’s most predictable is the usual winner. Me.”

 

Mike nudged Lucas. “How come you’re not playing chess with me or Will by mail?”

 

Dustin and Lucas looked at one another. Dustin didn’t want to give the reason, but he also knew he wouldn’t have to, so he just waited for Lucas to say it.

 

Lucas tried to appear apologetic, but failed. He stated flatly: “You two are no competition. It’s not fun to always crush you. I mean, not anymore at least.”

 

Will shrugged, clearly acknowledging the truth of his lack of chess prowess, but Mike fixed Lucas with a murderous look. Dustin was afraid everything was about to go sideways before their adventure even began, but the mood was saved as Mews sauntered into the living room.

 

Lucas tracked Mews as she moved closer. He broke out into a wide smile and swooped in on Mews, snatching her up. “Mews!” He spoke into her fluffy back. “I haven’t seen you in like forever.”

 

Dustin thought Mews looked terrified, but she didn’t claw or bite at Lucas to get away. Dustin was just about to let out the breath he was holding, thinking everything was going to be all right, when Lucas put his hands under Mews’s haunches and “shoulders” and held her above his head while reciting in a deep serious voice: “Kunte Kitty, behold the only thing greater than yourself. The Party!”

 

Mike snickered, but Dustin glanced at Will, who looked as nervous as Dustin felt.

 

Lucas stared at his friends expectantly, but when his Omoro Kinte impression didn’t get a laugh, his expression turned sour. He gently lowered Mews back to chest level and cradled her there. Then he shot Will and Dustin a hurt look and said softly, “You guys never get my humor.”

 

Dustin, who prided himself on knowing movie quotes, was quick to deny this. “No, we _**all**_ saw _Roots_ , Lucas . . . . “

 

But Dustin didn’t know exactly how to finish his thought and trailed off lamely.

 

Will jumped in then. “We just didn’t know if we could laugh at that, or not.”

 

Lucas nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. He bent to put Mews down and when he straightened up he was smiling broadly and said, “When I’m gracing you with my _**hilarious**_ pun-based humor, you can always laugh. Okay?”

 

Will smiled and nodded, and Dustin moved close to Lucas and gave him an exaggerated pat on the back. “In that case, good one. ”

 

Lucas jabbed a light punch at Dustin’s midsection and then jumped over to Will to ruffle his hair.

 

Mike sighed. “You have a lot of energy today. Even more than usual.”

 

Lucas jumped over to Mike and stood so that they were face-to-face. They stared at each other in what Dustin thought was almost a challenging manner. Like Rocky facing off with Apollo Creed.

 

Lucas said, “I guess I’m just excited to have The Party back together.”

 

Mike’s expression softened. “Me too.” Mike gestured around the room in a slow, game-show host manner. “My version of excited just involves a lot less moving around.”

 

Dustin crept up beside them, raised his hands and then closed them as if he were tying off a bow and said softly, “And . . . scene.”

 

Both of them looked at Dustin in surprise.

 

“What was that?” asked Mike.

 

“Something I learned at Theater camp. It was like how the counselors ended a scene. I was doing it to end your argument.”

 

“We weren’t even arguing,” protested Mike.

 

“You’re arguing with Dustin right now,” Will observed.

 

Mike glanced over at Will and then imitated Dustin’s gesture right in front of Will’s mouth, “And . . . scene.”

 

“You can’t just do that anytime you want to shut someone up!” protested Dustin.

 

“But isn’t that what you just did to us?”

 

“Well yeah, basically, but that’s _**my**_ thing. Get your own thing.”

 

“Fine. My thing is, let’s get the hell outta Dodge. We have a big day ahead of us.”

 

\---

 

Lucas Sinclair slammed his bike into the park’s bike rack and wished he had brought a hat. Or headband. Or bandanna. Or anything to combat the heat.

 

He looked over at Dustin as the other three loaded their bikes into the rack.

 

_Dustin has the right idea._

 

Dustin had grabbed a light-colored baseball cap before leaving his house and didn’t look quite as sweaty as the other party members as they arrived at the park downtown.

 

_Of course, he’s also the only one who isn’t lugging a heavy backpack full of books_.

 

When Lucas arrived at Mike’s house earlier to pick him up, Mike had asked him to load his backpack full of books. After Mike showed him his own backpack was already full, Lucas relented. Apparently, the used book store was one of their destinations for the day.

 

_It makes sense. If we’re going to our favorite places, Mike and Dustin spend a ton of time there._

 

All of them were hot and panting as they hitched up their backpacks and started walking. They didn’t lock up their bikes or think twice about leaving them in the park. None of them even owned bike chains.

 

_It’s Hawkins after all. Nothing ever happens here_.

 

Will groaned under the weight of his backpack. “We’re going to get rid of these first, right? Otherwise I think I may pass out.”

 

“What did you guys bring with you anyway?” asked Dustin.

 

“Books,” Mike said, beaming at Dustin. “Lots and lots of books for trade in.”

 

“Nice,” nodded Dustin, shooting Mike a thumbs up. “So we’re headed to The Book Nook?”

 

Mike looked pleased with himself. “Yep. We’ve got enough to trade in, so we can all get some books. Let’s go.”

 

They walked in a clump toward the store. They all knew where it was; The Party had been to The Book Nook many times before.

 

The store was really just an old two-story house on the edge of the downtown. You could take books there and turn them in for “credit” you could use to buy other books at the store.

 

“We’ve been working on collecting books all summer,” Will said proudly.

 

“Yeah,” agreed Mike. “I managed to get tons of my Mom’s romance novels that she doesn’t want to keep. And then Will helped me watch for garage sales all summer that had books for sale.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yeah,” continued Mike. “And if we found some, we would go back at the end of the last day and try to get all the books that were left for a cheap price.”

 

“Did that work?”

 

“Totally,” responded Will. “A lot of times they just sold us everything that was still there for like a buck.”

 

Dustin seemed perplexed. “Why would they do that?”

 

“Maybe they don’t know you can trade them in?”

“They’re probably too busy.”

 

“Or too lazy.”

 

“Or at the end of their sale, they just wanted to get rid of things and would rather sell the whole box instead of lugging them all back into the house.”

 

Lucas thought they were all missing the most obvious reason. He said, “Maybe they just didn’t want more books?”

 

Dustin stopped walking and stared at Lucas, clearly incredulous. Mike looked confused.

 

“Like who on earth doesn’t want new books?” Mike demanded.

 

Dustin agreed. “Yeah man, that does _**not**_ make sense.”

 

Lucas smiled at their tunnel vision and held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. No matter the reason, combing all the sales was a really good idea.”

 

Mike and Will looked pleased at the compliment, so Lucas kept his other thoughts to himself.

 

_Leave it to Mike to figure out a way to turn a little bit of money into a bunch of random books. Which he saves up to then turn into a bunch of other random books, if The Book Nook even has them. It seems like that was more work than just going around the neighborhood seeing if you could do chores for money. Then you could buy books, or literally anything else you want._

 

Mike looked over at Will and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks to my partner in crime here, I almost felt bad sometimes. Like we were putting one over on the adults.”

 

_You were_ , Lucas thought looking over at Will. _Mike was smart to bring Will along and probably had Will do_ _ **all**_ _the talking. Will’s nice and he’s poor and everyone in town knows it. So when Will shows up asking to take some books off your hands for a low price it’s sorta like Oliver asking for more gruel. It’s hard to say “no” to Will._

 

“So we have tons of books to turn in so we can get credit to spend?” Dustin asked. He had a far-away look in his eye as if he was imagining all the books he could get.

 

“Yep. Three backpacks full.”

 

As they approached the door, Lucas suggested, “Hey why don’t I stay with Will and turn in all the books? That way you two will have more time to look around?”

 

Mike and Dustin looked instantly excited.

 

Dustin said, “Good thing I brought my notebook.”

 

Lucas rolled his eyes. “You bring your notebook everywhere, man.“

 

“True.”

 

Dustin held the door open for his friends. They all walked up to the huge desk that served as the “counter” to one side of the entrance. It had one of those giant bronze old-timey cash registers on it.

 

Dustin inhaled deeply through his nose. “Smell that, Mike? That’s the smell of knowledge.”

 

Mike smiled back, excited. “Or adventure.”

 

_Or mildew,_ thought Lucas.

 

They both looked over at Will and Lucas impatiently, as if they were eager kids in a toy store for the first time.

 

Will held out his hands to Mike. “Give me the books. You two go on ahead.”

 

Mike promptly handed over the heavy backpack and followed Dustin down the haphazard main row of bookshelves to the back of the store.

 

Lucas didn’t need to watch them to know where they were going. Dustin was headed to the “Mystery” section in the back corner, and Mike was on his way to the second floor where the “Sci-Fi” and “Fantasy” sections were.

 

Lucas turned back to the counter just as he heard Mike’s sneakers pound up the stairs.

 

Will nudged him as they opened the backpacks and stacked books on the desk for Mrs. Simpkin’s inspection. “That was nice of you to volunteer to stay here and help.”

 

“You know why I did it, right?” Lucas asked dryly.

 

Will nodded and continued to lift books out of Mike’s backpack. “Sure. They’re going to be here for a while.”

 

“That’s an understatement.”

 

“So we have time to do this.” He gestured at the backpacks full of books.

 

Lucas nodded slowly. “And I’ll still be ready to go before they are.”

 

“We should look around too though, we’ll have enough credit so we can all get something.”

 

“Oh I will,” Lucas agreed. “But I bet I’ll still be done before them.”

 

Will giggled. “Probably. One time I left and went to see my Mom at Melvald’s and came back to find Mike in the same section upstairs. I don’t think he even noticed I was gone.”

 

Lucas hefted more books from his pack. “I’ve got you beat. Once I fell asleep waiting for Dustin.”

 

Will laughed as they continued to stack books on the counter.

 

\---

 

Lucas wished he could fall asleep again. Or that there was a place to sit. Or that Mrs. Simpkin wasn’t so chintzy with the A/C. He leaned against the bookshelves and just barely resisted looking at his watch or openly yawning.

 

_At least outside there would be a breeze_.

 

Lucas and Will had handed over all the books to Mrs. Simpkin. There were a few she rejected, safely stowed back in Mike’s backpack. She gave them a little slip of paper showing how much “credit” they had to spend, and then Will and Lucas had separated. Lucas headed over to the “History” and “Military” sections first, while Will followed Mike upstairs.

 

Lucas picked out two “cover” books. One was a history book about the African Desert campaigns during World War II. It was hardcover, but it was old, and it didn’t cost much. Lucas thought maybe his Dad would like to look at it too. In the middle it had a bunch of maps and black and white photos that reminded Lucas of some of the hex and counter war games that his Dad played sometimes.

 

The other “cover” book was a paperback adventure story set during the Korean War. Lucas had read a few of these war adventure stories before. A lot of them were totally racist, but usually against the Germans or the Koreans or the Japanese or Vietnamese, so Lucas let it slide. It turned out some of them were on the racy side too, getting into what sailors do while they’re on leave in a foreign country. Lucas never had the guts to ask his Dad if he had known guys in the service who used drugs or who had a “girl in every port”. If he ever asked, he was sure to get the books taken away.

 

Books being taken away was the reason he picked two “cover” books in the first place. After he had chosen two “safe” books, Lucas headed straight to the “Humor” section and picked up what he was really after.

 

There was this whole series of little paperback joke books called “Dirty Little Joke Books” or “Gross Jokes” which Dustin and Lucas liked. The library didn’t have these books, but you could often find them at The Book Nook. Lucas already had a collection of them at home, carefully hidden so his folks wouldn’t find them.

 

There was no problem buying them, since Mrs. Simpkin seemed to share Dustin’s view that there was no such thing as a “bad” book. Unfortunately, his parents didn’t subscribe to that point of view. If they ever found Lucas’s stash of gross little joke books full of wildly offensive jokes, Lucas was sure he knew what would happen.

 

_Those books would be gone and I would be in_ _**big** _ _trouble._

 

Lucas couldn’t believe some of the things printed in those books. He knew lots of the “jokes” were more shocking than funny, but he couldn’t curb his fascination.

 

One of his favorite things to do was to get on the Comms late at night and read the most offensive jokes he could find, and then wait to see which of the guys responded first. Dustin would usually come on and howl with laughter and ask him to read another. Mike would often say “eww,” but laugh anyway. Will normally ignored them. Every once in a while he would come on to laugh or ask to hear another one, but more often he would say something like, “That’s horrible. You’re _**horrible**_. All of you. Over and out!”

 

Lucas shifted his weight against the bookshelf and looked down the aisle at Dustin. Dustin was still in the “Mystery” section, on his hands and knees, with his little notebook open in front of him, checking off titles he found against the list of books he had already read or owned. Dustin had gotten obsessed with English mysteries last year and was constantly reading one of them. Doyle, Christie, Sayers, Marsh. Lucas had heard about all of them. For such a small country it sounded like England was the murder capital of the world.

 

Lucas was startled out of his thoughts by a soft, “Hey.”

 

He turned to find Mike and Will behind him. “You guys done?”

 

Mike shrugged. “I could probably look around a little more, but it was pretty hot upstairs. It was like I could chew the air up there.”

 

Lucas shrugged. “It’s just the humidity.”

 

Will cut in. “No. That’s not it. The air always feels thick here. Even in the winter.”

 

“Thick?”

 

“Yeah,” Will said slowly, struggling for the right words. “Thick somehow. Packed tight with old books and someone’s discarded possessions. Thick with the past, I guess.”

 

Mike glanced over at Will. “Poetic. Is that why you were over in the poetry section?”

 

Will shook his head. “No. You’re the wordsmith, Mike. I was just picking up something.”

 

Lucas studied Will’s finds then. He held only two books, a very slim paperback and a huge, oversized coffee table hardback. Lucas nodded toward the big book. “What’ve you got there?”

 

Will twisted it around so Mike and Lucas could see the cover. It was glossy colored hardback from the Art Institute in Chicago. It was in like-new condition, too. Looking at it, Lucas felt sure that some Hawkins housewife had gone there a couple years ago, picked up the big souvenir book, and never looked at it again.

 

Even if the exhibits weren’t current, Lucas knew it was the type of book that Will loved. Getting to see the paintings and sculptures and artifacts in detail in photographs was the closest thing they had to high culture in Hawkins.

 

Mike had a large pile of paperbacks, but one glance confirmed it was just more in the endless fantasy and science fiction sagas Mike preferred.

 

Mike looked from his stack to Lucas and Will’s. “I can hold those if you guys want to look for some more,” he suggested. “Even with that hardback and that big art book, you guys still could pick some more with your share of the credit.”

 

“That’s okay,“ Lucas told him. “Let Dustin take up some of our share. Can’t you see that pile he’s working on?”

 

He gestured down the aisle to Dustin who had a sizable pile of paperbacks set aside.

 

“He deserves more anyway,” Lucas said with a smirk. “ _ **Someone**_ told me that he can read five books in a day.”

 

Will played along. “I think I’ve heard that somewhere too. Can’t remember who told me, though.”

 

Mike laughed. “Leave him alone. Agatha Christie wrote a _**lot**_ of books.”

 

“And apparently, Dusty has to read them all.”

 

“Hey,” said Mike defensively. “He likes to figure them out.”

 

_That’s true_ , thought Lucas, _I think Dustin likes to figure_ _ **everything**_ _out._

 

Mike tapped the war adventure book Lucas was holding. “And he likes heroes who don’t look or act like your typical action heroes.”

 

“You think?”

 

Mike nodded. “Yep. An old lady and a fussy Belgian obsessed with his own facial hair? They’d be killed with no dialogue in your stories.” Mike hefted his own pile of books up. “And in these they would be side characters at best, or the butt of the joke. But in Dustin’s mysteries, the smartest person in the room gets to end the book with a big speech and save the day.”

 

Lucas sighed. “Fine. Can one of you save _**me**_ and get us out of here?”

 

Mike raised an eyebrow and then got a stubborn look on his face. “Since when are you the impatient one?”

 

“Since we’ve been here for what seems like an hour during our summer vacation in the sweltering heat. I already snatched the Mega-Change-Purse away from Dustin and looked through it for any coins I might want.”

 

“Find any?”

 

“Nope,” Lucas said heavily, while glaring at Mike. “Can we _**please**_ tell him it’s time to go?”

 

“Okay,” Mike relented.

 

Lucas and Mike both turned to look at Will expectantly.

 

Will furrowed his brows and muttered, “You’re both a-holes.”

 

But then he shoved his two books at Mike and dutifully walked down the aisle towards Dustin. Will got down on his bony knees beside Dustin and started talking to him. Momentarily, Dustin looked back to Mike and Lucas and gave them a cheery smile. Then he held up one finger in the universal gesture that meant: “Just one more minute.”

 

Lucas sighed again. “Do you think there’s a book called _Bookishness and How to Conquer it_? We should get him _**that**_ one.”

 

Mike rolled his eyes, “C’mon, we can head to the check out.”

 

They walked back to the desk and gave the books to Mrs. Simpkin to ring up. Mike grabbed a little business card for The Book Nook and tucked it into one of his books like a bookmark.

 

Lucas elbowed him. “Maybe we can get you and Dustin some little cards to hand out that say ‘Friendless Book Reader.’”

 

“Maybe,” Mike nodded, looking thoughtful. “Then maybe I’ll get _**you**_ some that say ‘Lucas Sinclair: Inappropriate Since 1971.’”

 

“ _ **You**_ calling _**me**_ inappropriate? That’s like the pot calling the kettle a cooking utensil.”

 

Mike laughed. “How long have you been waiting to say that one?”

 

Lucas had heard his Mom say that on their recent long trip. So not _**that**_ long.

 

_But I’ll never admit that to Wheeler_.

 

“It just came to me in the moment.”

 

\---

 

Lucas breathed a sigh of relief when they finally left The Book Nook. But his satisfaction only lasted until he realized the afternoon sun was beating down on them harder than before.

 

Lucas still felt sort of withered up and drowsy, but Mike and Dustin were all excitement as they looked through their pile of books and cackled.

 

“I feel like we just got away with something,” Dustin said, gleeful. “I mean look at this haul!”

 

“Like a heist,” Mike agreed.

 

“We just pulled off the biggest book robbery in the nation.”

 

Dustin turned serious and set down his backpack. Then he tugged his cap down further over his face, where he tried out his version of a menacing glare and brought his hands together into a finger pistol.

 

Lucas watched as Mike followed suit. He adopted a solemn expression, stood with his back against Dustin’s, and raised his own finger gun in front of his face.

 

Mike did his announcer voice and proclaimed: “Dusty and Wheels, the most daring daylight robbery duo in the tri-state area.”

 

Will put his hand to his face in either embarrassment, amusement, or both. Lucas turned back to look at them all. Their backs were to the street so none of them saw the police four-by-four pull up behind them. It slowed to a crawl and through the open window Lucas could see a gruff old guy with facial hair giving them a narrow-eyed once over.

 

Lucas widened his eyes and cocked his head toward the police vehicle, the standard signal for _watch out, dummies_. Will’s hand lowered and his smile disappeared. Dustin and Mike held their back-to-back stance and Mike stared back at the cop, while Dustin’s artfully crafted finger gun slowly morphed into an awkward finger-wiggling wave.

 

The cop didn’t come to a full stop, but just continued his warning glare as he rolled on past.

 

Mike looked over at Dustin and said under his breath, “Now we _**really**_ have to get out of Dodge.”

 

Then Dustin and Mike spun away from each other and they were all scrambling for their backpacks. They ran full speed in the opposite direction from the cop.

 

They were all out of breath when they rounded the next corner and leaned against the wall of the Laundromat they had just passed. They stood with their backs to the rough bricks, holding their backpacks in front of them and trying to catch their breath, from either the running or nervous laughter.

 

“That was the Chief of Police,” marveled Lucas.

 

“I don’t think he liked us,” Dustin wheezed. “He didn’t wave back.”

 

Mike was doubled over, one hand clutching his backpack, and the other on his knee. “My Mom says that guy used to date Mrs. Byers.”

 

Lucas smiled when Will reached over to slap Mike on the back. “Shut up, Mike,” Will said fiercely. “That’s not true!”

 

Then Will moved out of his default spot next to Mike and over to stand near Dustin instead.

 

It took them a few minutes to calm down. During which Mike stuck near Lucas and avoided the Wrath of Byers, and Dustin and Will talked softly.

 

When Lucas looked over to see what Dustin and Will were up to, he saw Will pull the slim paperback out of his backpack and show it Dustin.

 

Dustin seemed excited. “ _Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats_? You got this?”

 

Will nodded. “Yeah. I saw it in the poetry section and remembered you said you wanted to read it. It has these great illustrations by Edward Gorey.”

 

Mike and Lucas fell silent as they watched their friends. Lucas felt like he must have missed something along the way.

 

As Will flipped though the book pointing out some of the drawings and smiling, Dustin moved closer to Will, looking over his shoulder. “This is awesome, Will!” Dustin exclaimed. “Some of these are the words from the songs.”

 

Lucas turned to Mike and gave him a _what the hell?_ look. Mike just shrugged.

 

Dustin put an arm around Will. “Thanks for remembering that, Will.”

 

Will smiled back at Dustin. “I’ll borrow it to you if you want.”

 

Lucas didn’t really comprehend their little “moment” or know what that book was, but he was _**not**_ about to let that last sentence just go by.

 

He stepped in front of them and said to Will, “No. No you won’t.”

 

He pointed first to Dustin. “ _ **He’ll**_ borrow it.”

 

And then back to Will. “ _ **You’ll**_ lend it or loan it.”

 

Will and Dustin both stared at Lucas indifferently. Then Dustin rolled his eyes and huffed, “Thanks Grammar-Mom.”

 

Will turned to Dustin and pointedly asked: “Can I _**borrow**_ some of those tapes of the musicals you made at camp?”

 

“Sure. Why?”

 

“I want to copy them for myself using Jonathan’s stereo.”

 

Mike turned to Lucas and said knowingly, “Well _**maybe**_ we can get some blank tapes at our next stop?”

 

Lucas frowned at Mike’s weird insistence on secrecy. “If you want to be Julie, our cruise director, be my guest. But if you have an itinerary all planned out then maybe let us in on it.”

 

Mike frowned at him. “Define that word.”

 

Dustin opened his mouth to answer immediately, but Lucas held out his hand to stop him. “I got this. Itinerary was the word my Dad used for this annoying piece of paper he had on our trip, which told us what we would be doing every second of every day. At 2:30 we’ll be watching ladies churn butter at historic Williamsburg. At 3:15 we’ll attend a demonstration on how candles are made. At 3:45 Lucas will leap to his death to avoid any more F-cubed time. And so on.”

 

“Very detailed.”

 

“Shut up Dustin.”

 

Mike seemed defensive. “I don’t have, like, a full itiner-whatever.”

 

Will shot Mike a reproachful look, which they all caught, and Lucas interpreted as, “Friends don’t lie,” or possibly, “don’t talk shit about my Mom.”

 

Mike shot an annoyed glance back at Will and sighed. Then he admitted hesitantly, “Well I sort of do, I guess, but _**only**_ if you guys want to. This is supposed to be our fun grown-up outing. Emphasis on ‘fun’. I don’t want anyone to leap to their deaths.”

 

Mike had started off defensive and a little whiny, but by the end of his admission he just sounded hopeful.

 

_It’s obvious he put a lot of thought into this_ , Lucas thought, _I should let him keep things a surprise if he wants_.

 

Lucas narrowed his eyes at Mike. “You promise there are no butter-churning lessons?”

 

Mike crossed his heart. “Promise. I swear there is no educational component to anything I have planned.”

 

Lucas relented then. He turned on a full Isaac the bartender impression from _The Love Boat_ and hunched his shoulders, stuck out both hands like pointers at Mike and said, “Then, go for it Julie, direct the shit out of this cruise.”

 

Dustin laughed while Will looked relieved and Mike chuckled happily.

 

“C’mon then. Let’s head back towards the center of town.”

 

They walked in a group back to the park. After a few seconds of silence, Mike admitted, “You’d look good with a mustache.”

 

Lucas figured he was referring to Isaac, but couldn’t tell if Mike was making fun of him or not. Mike could be patient about getting back at people.

 

_And I did just call him “Julie” a bunch of times in a row_.

 

Since Lucas wasn’t sure where Mike’s head was at, he gave his friend a skeptical look.

 

“No, really. Like your Dad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without facial hair.”

 

This was true, Lucas knew. Lucas himself had only seen his Dad without facial hair in old pictures. Lucas figured Mike was being sincere then. Mike knew better than to ever make fun of Lucas’s Dad.

 

Lucas ran his hand over his lip and chin wistfully. “I think facial hair is still a long time off.”

 

“I dunno,” interjected Will. “Jonathan is shaving now. It won’t be long.”

 

“Ugh,” groaned Mike. “That sounds like too much work, I’m never going to shave.”

 

Dustin raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

 

“No way. I’m just going to have a big bushy beard like Uncle Jesse or ZZ Top.”

 

At the mention of ZZ Top, their new song from MTV popped into his mind. Lucas played his air guitar and sang out, “Every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed Mom.”

 

Dustin laughed. “Good one.”

 

Lucas slowed his pace and fell in between Dustin and Will, letting Mike lead the way to their next destination.

 

Lucas glanced over at Dustin. “So did you hear any new songs at your camp that would be good for The Album?”

 

Dustin shook his head sadly. “Not really.”

 

“Bummer.”

 

Will nudged Lucas from the other side. “I told you I listened to a bunch of new music with Jonathan while you were gone.”

 

Lucas wasn’t sure where this was going. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. So why aren’t you asking me?”

 

“You never come up with any good ones, Will. I feel like you’re kind of sensitive about these things.”

 

“What things?”

 

Lucas felt the conversation slipping away from him. He realized he could short circuit this whole thing by asking Will if he’d heard any good songs they could replace the lyrics in. But Lucas was more than a little sick of being called “horrible” for his gross jokes books or putting “Mom” into songs, so he didn’t want to back down.

 

“I dunno,” Lucas said, exasperated. “Sex stuff, crude jokes.”

 

Lucas felt like he was stating the obvious. They had all watched a VHS tape of _Airplane_ earlier in the summer. The movie not only treated Lucas to his first view of actual naked boobs, but also an extended dick-sucking joke involving the blow-up auto pilot. Lucas remembered vividly Will laughed along with the rest of them for most of the movie, but went quiet and looked uncomfortable at times.

 

Will gave him a stubborn look. “I’m not _**sensitive**_.”

 

“You kind of are,” Lucas persisted. “You don’t like the Helen Keller jokes, or the dead baby jokes, or really most of the jokes from those stupid little joke books me and Dustin get.”

 

Lucas turned to Dustin for support and Dustin nodded.

 

“Agreed. You get judgy, Will. Like you’re my grandma or something. Like your virgin ears can’t handle even hearing us _**say**_ certain things.”

 

Lucas shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t know how to respond to your disappointed looks.” He looked over to Dustin. “Do you?”

 

“Not really. Like are we supposed to apologize?” Dustin leaned toward Will and said with mock sincerity, “Sorry we upset your delicate sensi-fuckin’-bilities.”

 

Dustin and Lucas both turned to watch Will’s reaction, but Will didn’t respond to either the comic timing of the remark or the harsh delivery.

 

Instead Will asked Lucas, “So you feel like I don’t _**approve**_ of you putting ‘Mom’ in songs either, is that it?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Why?”

 

Lucas considered this for a second. “Because I don’t think you’ve ever come up with one. Like _**ever**_. Like I bet you couldn’t come up with a good one even if you tried.”

 

Will asked casually, “What are you willing to bet?”

 

Lucas wasn’t threatened by Will’s question in the least.

 

_There’s no way Will can come up with anything good. As if!_

 

“What do you want?”

 

Will’s answer was immediate. “If I win I want that twelve dollar penny you’re always bragging about.”

 

It wasn’t a twelve dollar penny, but Lucas knew what Will meant. For his most recent birthday his Grandma gave him a 1922 Peace Dollar. It had Lady Liberty on one side, and an eagle on the other with the word “peace”. It was worth a lot of money because it was one of the last U.S. dollar coins to be minted in real silver.

 

Lucas narrowed his eyes. “It’s actually a Peace Dollar. Not a penny.”

 

“But still worth twelve dollars, right?”

 

“Yeah, twelve bucks or so.”

 

Lucas knew Will was shrewd in this way sometimes. He had seen Will raise the stakes of a bet with Mike to something that Mike really didn’t want to part with, or something of Mike’s that was worth some real money. It was obvious Mike got burned by this once too often, as Mike refused to make bets with Will any more.

 

Lucas didn’t know if it was because Will was poor, or if he was just pushing back against The Party when he felt they were pushing him around for being nice.

 

_Like he’s saying, “if you tease me for being nice, I’ll show you how_ _**not** _ _nice I can be and take your most prized possession.”_

 

Will hadn’t gone for the wrist rocket, but something actually worth some money.

 

All things considered, Lucas didn’t feel like this bet was much of a risk. He’d seen Will go back on a bet with Dustin, where Dustin had bet his bike. In the end Will didn’t take Dustin’s bike, but a seashell Dustin collected from a trip he’d taken to the shore.

 

_We all have a drawer or a random shoe box full of trinkets and odds and ends_ , thought Lucas, _but Will must have really wanted that seashell_. B _ecause the next time I was In Will’s room the shell was displayed on Will’s little bedside table._

 

_And it’s still there to this day_.

 

_I don’t think he’d ever take the Peace Dollar I got as a gift from my Grandma. Just like he didn’t take Dustin’s bike._

 

“So what do I get if you don’t win?”

 

“I’ll give you the rifle if you win.”

 

“Clever. You know my dad would never let me have that.”

 

Will shrugged. “Then whatever you want. You name it.”

 

Will seemed so confident in that moment it made Lucas nervous. He had second thoughts and tried to figure a way out of the bet.

 

_Holy shit, now **I** need a “face saving mechanism.”_

 

The problem was Dustin and Mike had both stopped walking and were watching them closely. It was harder to back down. So instead he looked for another out.

 

“How would we even judge the bet though? What counts as a ‘good one’?”

 

“We can judge it,” Dustin said instantly, as he scratched at his peeling nose. “Me and Mike.”

 

Lucas raised his eyebrows and tried again, but he was honestly starting to feel like he was about to lose at chess. Like he was being boxed in. He also had a pretty strong desire to kick Dustin on his sunburned shin. He looked from Dustin to Mike. “What if the two of you don’t agree?”

 

Mike had an answer ready, the jerk. “If it’s a tie, then no one wins. It’s just a draw.”

 

_Did they just put me in check_?

 

But Lucas had one more gambit left. He turned back to Will and extended a finger inches from Will’s noise. “And you’ve got to perform it. For real. Singing and everything. Here in public. Like I did just now with ZZ Top.”

 

Will didn’t even hesitate.

 

_What is happening here?_

 

“Deal,” Will said, and his smile looked a little too eager. He reached out to shake Lucas’s hand. “It’s a bet.”

 

Will immediately took off his backpack and dumped it on the ground. He shook out his arms, cleared his throat, and put on his serious performing face.

 

Then he began to sing an old song by Elton John, in a beautiful clear voice. And even before he finished, Lucas knew it was check-mate.

 

Will sang:

“Although I search myself it's always someone else I see

I'd just allow a fragment of your life

To wander f-r-e-e... yeah

But losing everything is like your Mom going down on me”

 

Lucas already figured he’d lost the bet. But watching Dustin and Mike completely losing it on the sidewalk, doubled over, howling with laughter confirmed it. Dustin had to lean on Mike for support, and Mike wiped tears from his eyes while shaking his head in amused shock. Mike had turned beet-red with embarrassment, but somehow Will didn’t look remotely self-conscious when he asked, “So did I win?”

 

This made Dustin and Mike scream with laughter all over again while Dustin nodded vigorously and Mike gave Will two thumbs up in recognition of his victory.

 

Will turned to Lucas, all wide eyes and innocence. “So, was it a good one?”

 

Lucas sighed heavily and gave Will a look of begrudging respect. “That’s one for The Album, Will. For sure.”

 

Will smiled and nodded in satisfaction. Then he turned to pick up his backpack and continue walking.

 

Lucas left Mike and Dustin behind to compose themselves and caught up with Will.

 

“Hey, when we get to Mike’s I’ll run home and get the Peace Dollar for you. A bet’s a bet.”

 

Will stopped walking again and gave Lucas an exasperated look. “I’m not going to take your stupid twelve-dollar penny.”

 

“Like I said, it’s actually a Peace Dollar.”

 

Will shook his head as if he were getting even more annoyed. “Whatever, coin _**nerd**_ , that would _**also**_ be mean.”

 

Lucas opened his mouth to respond, but Will cut him off. “But just admit that this lyric game is a little mean, too.”

 

Lucas felt his own face getting hot and muttered, “It’s just a joke, man.”

 

Mike and Dustin caught up with them then. Mike slung one arm around Will’s shoulders. “Yeah c’mon Will, it’s just a harmless joke.”

 

Will turned his glare onto Mike and neatly stepped out of reach. “Oh you really think that all Mom jokes are okay, Mike? How about this one? Mrs. Wheeler is _**so**_ pretty, but I wonder why she dyes her roots black?”

 

Mike’s shocked expression spoke for itself. He held up his hands and backed away whispering, “You’re on your own, Lucas.”

 

Will turned back to Lucas. “Admit it or hand over the twelve-dollar dollar and I’ll use it to buy us all pizza.”

 

Lucas was beyond appalled; his coin collection was to be admired, not _**spent**_ like common currency.

 

“It’s a little mean,” Lucas admitted, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.

 

“Those gross jokes are mean too. I just don’t think you have to be mean to be funny, Lucas. That’s all.”

 

They walked along in silence for a while. The silence was eventually broken by Dustin and Mike softly humming the tune to “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” behind them and giggling like morons.

 

Lucas looked over at Will. “Coin nerd? Really?”

 

Dustin squeezed himself between them. “Weren’t you just calling me and Mike ‘friendless book readers’ like, three blocks ago?”

 

“How do you even _**know**_ that?”

 

“I tattled on you,” called Mike from behind. “Like instantly.”

 

Lucas felt ganged up on. “Why are you all taking Will’s side?”

 

“I’m not,” Dustin said, as he flung his left arm around Will and his right arm around Lucas. “We should just have another party rule or something. We _**all**_ like different dorky things. We shouldn’t be turning on each other. Agreed?”

 

Mike came up on Will’s other side to walk the berm between the sidewalk and street so they were all in a line together.

 

Mike said softly, “Agreed.”

 

Then he looked over at Will, next to him.

 

Will nodded. “Agreed.”

 

Lucas could feel them all looking at him, but he didn’t really need any prompting.

 

“Agreed.”

 

\---

 

Will Byers knew where they were going next.

 

Will actually knew the whole plan, since he helped Mike come up with it while Dustin and Lucas were out of town. They had spent a bunch of lazy summer afternoons hiding from the sun in Castle Byers, or avoiding the heat entirely in Mike’s cool, dark basement.

 

They had debated which places to go to, and in which order, and they couldn’t really agree on which place was Lucas’s favorite. So in the end Mike put all the possibilities on the list to cover up that fact.

 

But there had never been any debate about which place was Will’s favorite.

 

Melvald’s General Store.

 

_Not the most exciting choice compared to all the others_.

 

But when Mike added it to the list with Will’s name next to it, Will couldn’t really argue. If you didn’t count anyone’s house, or the school, Melvald’s was definitely the place Will spent the most time.

 

_It’s like I grew up there._

 

Will knew all the hidden secrets of Melvald’s. He knew where there was a little safe hidden in the small office, where they put all the cash and checks and receipts each night. He knew about the trap door in the storage room, which led to a creepy underground storage area. It was dark and terrifying and looked like it was wet and full of rats. Will had never been down there, but Mom always told the story about how she and some customers had to go down there one time during a tornado warning.

 

You couldn’t _**pay**_ Will to go down there.

 

_I think I’d rather blow away in a tornado_. _It didn’t turn out so bad for Dorothy._

 

Will also had fond memories of the break room with the punch clock. Will had spent hours there doing homework, drawing, and daydreaming.

 

_And then there was the time where Mom did, like, an operation on Lucas in that break room._

 

As The Party approached the store, bantering back and forth, Will mostly tuned them out. He was already sorry he had sort of lost his temper when Mike said that thing about his Mom, and Dustin and Lucas had ganged up on him. Will knew he could apologize if he needed to, but a lot of times The Party skipped over apologies completely and just shifted back to normal. It seemed like that was happening now.

 

Will looked up at the familiar sign above the door, and was flooded with memories. He remembered one night when he was little and Mom was closing. Dad had gotten Jonathan and Will into their pajamas and piled them into the car to pick up Mom from work. And Mom had been in a good mood because it was payday, so instead of going straight home and to bed, they drove to the next town over, and went through the McDonald’s drive thru. Will could still remember sitting in his PJ's in the dimly lit parking lot, sipping his bedtime milkshake and listening to his parents laugh about how the treat was all courtesy of Melvald’s.

 

_I guess a lot of things I have are courtesy of Melvald’s, in a way_.

 

Will couldn’t remember a time when his Mom didn’t work there. At first the extra money she made was used for little things. Now, her work paid for pretty much everything. But all throughout his life, he had Melvald’s to thank for keeping him stocked in comic books.

 

Will had never subscribed to a comic book like Lucas did, where it would come to you in the mail. Will never got _**any**_ mail. And he couldn’t afford to buy many either. But Melvald’s had a magazine rack and sold comics too. And it was through publishing trickery that Will got to read so many comics.

 

The first time his Mom brought him home a comic with the cover ripped off, Will just figured it had been damaged during delivery and couldn’t be sold. Later, one night when Will was at the store with Mom while she was working, he saw her ripping the covers off of magazines and comics and putting the ripped off covers in a pile, so he asked her what she was doing.

 

Mom had explained the publishers gave a rebate to the store for the copies Melvald’s ordered but didn’t sell. The companies didn’t want the whole magazine or comic shipped back to them, but needed to make sure Melvald’s couldn’t still sell it. So employees just ripped off the covers and sent those back in order to get the rebate or discount on next month’s order. The stores were then supposed to destroy the cover-less issues.

 

Dustin eventually told Will not all stores did that. The pharmacy packed two cover-less comics with a third complete comic into plastic-wrapped three packs. The single issue of the three that still had a cover was conveniently in front obscuring the ones the pharmacy shouldn’t be selling.

 

According to Dustin, this was a valid loophole, so the pharmacy could still get some money for the stripped comics.

 

Those were the bulk of Will’s comic collection. The cover-less comics that Mom brought home from Melvald’s. It meant Will didn’t have a pristine collection in little plastic sleeves like Dustin did. It also meant he couldn’t always count on being able to read the next issue in a continued story, because it was never easy to predict what would sell out. When he got really excited about a story, excited enough to tell Mom how much he was looking forward to the next issue, there would often be _**one**_ miraculously unsold issue the next month that made its way home to Will.

 

_I wonder if Mom sometimes grabs a copy of_ _**Uncanny X-Men** _ _and hides it behind_ _**Redbook** _ _, or something?_

 

Will didn’t know for sure, but he knew better than to look a stripped cover gift-horse in the mouth.

 

As The Party entered the store, Will could only think of how often he and Jonathan had run up and down the familiar aisles.

 

_I guess we were supposed to be helping Mom, but we were mostly playing_.

 

“Hey boys.”

 

Will snapped out of his reverie when he heard Mom’s voice.

 

The rest of The Party chorused back to her: “Hey Mrs. Byers.”

 

Joyce came around the counter to greet them. She spent some time welcoming Lucas and Dustin back to town and asking about their adventures. She laughed at all the right times when Lucas complained about their endless family trip, but she also shot Will a wistful look during the tale. It wasn’t hard for Will to guess what she was thinking. That she wished she could do that type of thing for him and Jonathan. Will had set the postcard Lucas gave him next to his bed along with the seashell he’d won off Dustin. Between the picture of the sparkling water and the small shell, it was like having a piece of the beach right in his room. _I’ve never been to the ocean, or a national park, or to the Art Institute_ , Will thought. He pictured the “new” used book in his backpack. _But maybe someday._

 

Will smiled as Mom fussed over Dustin’s sunburn. Dustin seemed perversely proud as he hiked up his sleeve to show her just how red his shoulder was.

 

Mom had only a perfunctory greeting for Mike, since she’d seen him yesterday.

 

But then, she turned her attention on Will. He was already embarrassed and she hadn’t even said anything yet. Mom was definitely getting better, but she was still really touchy with Will. Truthfully, Will didn’t mind, but it was humiliating in front of his friends.

 

Mike leaned over to Will and whispered in his ear. “Ask her, okay?”

 

Will nodded.

 

Mike shot Will a quick wink, and said to Lucas and Dustin, “Let’s go find those blank tapes and plan our next move.”

 

Will sent his friend a silent “thank you” as the guys walked across the store in search of blank cassette tapes.

 

Once the guys were gone, Mom instantly had her arms wrapped around Will.  With the guys out of sight and no customers around, he hugged her right back. Tight. It was too hot for such a long hug, but Will didn’t care. He breathed in the familiar scent of her perfume mixed with the faint odor of cigarette smoke, and mumbled, almost to himself: “Thanks, Mom.”

 

\---

 

Will watched with amusement as Mom narrowed her eyes at Dustin.

 

“Is that my cigarette case?”

 

The guys had returned bearing a six-pack of blank audio tapes and Lucas set them on the counter to check out. Then Dustin pulled out the Mega-Change-Purse to pay, which caused the flicker of recognition in Joyce.

 

“The Mega-Change-Purse? I guess so,” shrugged Dustin. He proceeded to open the cigarette case and extract penny after penny and nickel after nickel, counting as he went.

 

Joyce watched Dustin’s growing procession of coins before reaching for the case, as if to take over, but Dustin nimbly shifted out of her reach and kept counting out coins. It was clear he was trying to get rid of all the pennies, nickels and dimes.

 

Joyce quickly gave up, her expression resigned, and turned back to the other three boys. She addressed Mike, “So everyone is going to stay at your house tonight, right?”

 

“Yep. We’re going to have an all-nighter movie night.”

 

“All-nighter, huh?”

 

Will could hear the amused tone in Mom’s voice, but he was pretty sure the other guys couldn’t. Will had told his Mom they hadn’t been able to stay up all night at any of their previous “all-nighters.” No matter what they were doing, watching something or playing, there came a point where one of them crashed and went to sleep. Inevitably, this had a domino effect on the hold-outs, and every “all-nighter” they had planned to date had eventually turned into a “sleepover” instead.

 

“There!” Dustin said triumphantly, snapping the change purse closed. “Exact change.”

 

Joyce looked down at the change arranged in neat piles in front of her, opened the register, and started scooping them into the change drawer.

 

“Hey,” demanded Dustin, “Aren’t you going to count it?”

 

Joyce gave Dustin a pained look, then shifted her gaze to the other three. “Is he ever wrong?”

 

“No,” Mike admitted. “He’s annoying that way.”

 

Joyce looked back at Dustin. “Then no. I trust you, buddy.”

 

Joyce finished putting the change into the various drawer slots, put the tapes into a paper bag, and handed it and the receipt to Dustin. “Thanks for shopping at Melvald’s,” she told him, and winked.

 

Then she turned to Will and handed over her car keys. “Here, honey. Once you get done loading all the stuff inside, just remember to bring those keys back to me, or I’ll have to hunt you guys down.”

 

“I’ll bring them right back, I promise.”

 

“Okay. You guys have fun. And stay out of trouble. If you need anything, just come right back here okay?”

 

The Party left the store with a chorus of “okay” and “bye” and headed back out into the blinding sunlight. As they rounded the corner to the parking lot behind Melvald’s, Mike launched into his rapid-speech mode.

 

“I’m thinking we can dump those tapes and all the books we got and the ones that The Book Nook didn’t take, but even if you guys are going to leave your backpacks too, I should still keep mine for anything else we buy and for when we get the videos.”

 

“I’m going to keep my backpack too,” said Dustin.

 

Mike frowned at him. “I can put the money in _**my**_ backpack.”

 

“And his notebook,” interjected Lucas.

 

“ _ **And**_ your notebook,” Mike agreed.

 

Dustin shrugged. “I’ll just keep it.” He patted the strap over his shoulder protectively. “I got snacks in here too.”

 

Mike made a face at Dustin. “You brought snacks on our outing?”

 

Will had seen this face from Mike many times before. Will called it his “stinkface”.

 

Will could still remember the first time he’d seen Mike make such an annoyed face. It was before they met Lucas, when Will was still so excited to have a friend. Mike had made a super annoyed face during their goodbyes one day, and Will had run to Mom immediately, afraid he had already lost his “first friend.”

 

Mom smiled and explained what it meant to be “irritated” or “frustrated.” She compared it to when Jonathan wouldn’t share, or would hold something high, just out of Will’s reach. Or when she wouldn’t stop smooching his face in public. Then she had reached for Will, scooping him up into her arms and planting kisses all over his face and head.

 

Will recalled his reaction had been to pull away and screech, “Mo-om, quit!“

 

Will’s Mom had said, “See? _**Y**_ _ **ou’re**_ having the same reaction, right? The same emotion? _**That’s**_ being frustrated. Mike just lets that show on his face, sweetie, and you _**don’t**_. When you see him tomorrow at school, you’ll still be friends. Trust me.”

 

_And Mom was right_.

 

Will snapped back to reality when Lucas raised his voice. “You don’t have to always be like that, Mike!”

 

Mike just scowled and turned his dead-eyed glare on both Lucas and Dustin.

 

Dustin laughed and gave a disarming smile. “That reminds me of a new term I heard at camp. Involving ‘bitch’!”

 

Lucas threw him a skeptical look. “How is that new, you say ‘son-of-a-bitch’ like twenty times a day?”

 

“One of the older girls at camp called another girl ‘bitch-face'.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” continued Dustin. “And every time Mike gets annoyed, he makes a bitch-face at _**us**_.”

 

Dustin and Lucas laughed, and even Will couldn’t stop himself from chuckling.

 

“I do _**not**_ do that!”

 

Lucas pointed at Mike. “You are _**literally**_ doing it right now, in response to this conversation.”

 

Mike made a visible effort to clear the emotion from his face, and turned to Will. “I don’t do that, do I?” he asked, in a defensive tone.

 

Will caught the looks Lucas and Dustin were giving him. They were clearly expecting to be undermined, or assumed Will would lie to keep the peace. He knew he couldn’t do that. And it seemed crazy that Mike was actually asking this like a serious question. His glares, pouts, and withering stares were known to every student and teacher who crossed Mike’s oblivious path in school.

 

Will tried to keep his answer light-hearted. “I mean, you _**do**_ make a face sometimes, but we _**don’t**_ have to call it ‘bitch-face.’”

 

Lucas laughed and cut in instantly. “No, that’s _**totally**_ what we’re calling it from now on. For _**sure**_.”

 

Mike lowered his head, avoiding everyone’s gaze and kept walking to the Byers’ car.

 

Will was afraid Mike felt embarrassed. He jogged to catch up to his friend, and nudged him playfully. “I used to call it your ‘stink-face’. It’s like it’s involuntary or something. Like when you smell something bad. I always figured that you don’t do it on purpose, it’s just, like, an automatic reaction you have.”

 

Dustin came up beside them. “Like when the doctor hits your knee and it flies up?”

 

“Exactly!”

 

Lucas appeared on Mike’s other side and observed, “No. No way. That knee thing is something you can’t control, right?”

 

They all looked at Dustin. Dustin nodded.

 

“Well, there you go,” concluded Lucas. “We all have teachers and parents and sisters and _**Troy**_ saying the same stupid or mean things. _**All**_ of us do. And all of the rest of us manage to keep from making a bitch-face like Mike.”

 

“Or rolling our eyes ,” Dustin added, shoving a stray curl back under his baseball cap.

 

Will watched closely, it was clear Mike was l trying hard to restrain himself from changing his facial expression or rolling his eyes. Mike kept on walking, face blank, and let out a deep sigh.

 

“Or dramatic sighing,” Dustin said cheerfully. “You do it really well though, Mike. I mean, I really think you’d like Theater Camp.”

 

Then Dustin did his own version of a dramatic sign, and Lucas laughed.

 

Mike kept his eyes still and his expression neutral. But the slump of his shoulders indicated how defeated he felt. “Just don’t say it in front of my Dad, okay?”

 

Lucas looked surprised. “We all know how he is about language Mike,” he said in a reassuring tone. “We wouldn’t do that.”

 

Mike couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes then. “I really wasn’t afraid of you getting a stern talking to, Lucas.”

 

Will smiled at that. He knew Mr. Wheeler’s version of a “stern talking to” was one firmly stated “language!” pointed in the general direction of nearby children, as he turned back to whatever he was doing.

 

Mike continued. “I’m just afraid he’ll start announcing it at the dinner table when I do it.” Then Mike put on a pretty accurate impression of his Dad and pointed, as if across the table, “don’t you give me that bitch-face young man.”

 

This time they all laughed, even Mike.

 

They stowed away the packages, books, and extra backpacks in the Byers’ car. It was an endless production while Lucas and Will grabbed things they wanted from their backpacks, handing stuff off to Dustin and Mike to carry.

 

“Why don’t me and Lucas go get the Slurpees and you and Will return the keys, and we’ll meet you in the park?”

 

Mike nodded to Dustin in agreement, and they ignored Will and Lucas, as if relinquishing their backpacks also meant relinquishing their vote.

 

Lucas poked Mike in the arm. “I know you want a Coke one. Will?”

 

“Cherry for me.”

 

“See you guys in a bit.”

 

“We’ll probably beat you there,” observed Mike. “If Dustin pays with all pennies again.”

 

Dustin and Lucas ran off toward the 7-Eleven. Mike fell in step beside Will as they made their way back to Melvald’s. Eventually Mike broke the silence. He asked softly, “Am I really _**that**_ bad?”

 

“No.” Will smiled up at him. “No. It’s nice sometimes, too. I always know where I stand with you. When you’re happy, it’s nice that you show it so freely. I can _**always**_ tell when you’re glad to see me, or when you _**really**_ like something I draw.”

 

Mike nodded and scuffed his tennis shoes along the asphalt as he walked. He was still frowning.

 

Will elbowed him, trying to cajole him into a better mood. “Like c’mon, its _**mostly**_ nice.”

 

Mike managed a weak smile. He shrugged. “It could be worse, I guess. I could ‘tsk-tsk’ all the time like Miss Marissa.”

 

Will knew who he meant. The young librarian that Dustin liked.

 

Will’s expression instantly turned deadly serious. He stopped walking and put his hand on Mike’s shoulder as if delivering bad news. “Oh, you _**do**_.”

 

Mike stared at him, his forehead scrunched up in worry. He was obviously unsure if Will was serious or not.

 

“It’s not _**exactly**_ like that,” Will continued. “Not like a full ‘tsk-tsk, young man’. But you do this little ‘cluck’ with your tongue sometimes right before an eyeroll, and I’ve even heard you complete it _**with**_ a sigh. Cluck, eyeroll, sigh. I call that the triple lutz of stink-face.”

 

Mike’s forehead cleared and he narrowed his eyes at Will.

 

“I mean, that’s a high difficulty move. Even the Russian judge gives you a 10.”

 

Mike’s expression flickered between angry, then sad, then confused, and finally after a moment of confusion, a smile crept onto his face. And then, just before Mike reached out to grab him, Will sensed it coming and dodged out of Mike’s way. He ran toward the front of Melvald’s, leaving bitch-face in the dust.

 

\---

 

Mike Wheeler didn’t understand why Dustin and Lucas picked one of the only picnic tables that wasn’t in the shade.

 

_It feels about a thousand degrees out._

 

They were just sitting there, both on the same side of the picnic table, squinting in the opposite direction. Before them sat four Slurpees.

 

It was only as he and Will got closer that Mike figured it out. Across the broad section of the park, sitting around a picnic table -- which was more strategically placed to take advantage of the shade -- was a group of five or six older teen girls.

 

_Definitely high school girls_ , Mike thought, _like Nancy’s age or even older. The kind that are_ _ **terrifying**_.

 

Mike leaned over to Will and did his very best Elmer Fudd voice and softly said: “Be vewy vewy quiet, they’re hunting teengirls.”

 

Will laughed and said, “Just be glad Lucas didn’t bring his binoculars.”

 

Mike chuckled. “Even those two wouldn’t do _**that**_.”

 

Will just shrugged his shoulders as if he wasn’t so sure and they kept walking towards the picnic table.

 

Even after Mike and Will closed the distance and were beside Dustin and Lucas, the seated pair didn’t seem to notice them. They were completely absorbed in watching the teen girls. Mike was surprised their eyeballs weren’t bugging out like that old cartoon.

 

Mike looked from his friends to the girls. They were uniformly pretty, with big hair, and short shorts, and flimsy tank tops. They were talking animatedly, with lots of hand gestures and bursts of laughter. But they were too far away to hear what they were actually saying.

 

As Mike listened to Lucas and Dustin stage whisper, he realized they weren’t actually having a discussion _**about**_ the teen girls, they were giving an ongoing commentary as if they _**were**_ the girls. Talking when the girls mouths moved in quiet falsetto voices about what they imagined the gaggle of girls were talking about.

 

Lucas whispered in his high-pitched imitation of a girl. “Oh Mabel, you’re _**such**_ a bitch face.”

 

Dustin waited for another girl to begin talking and said shrilly, “No _**you’re**_ the bitch face.”

 

One girl opened her little purse and pulled out what looked like a pencil.

 

Lucas jumped back in. “I’m planning to practice my autograph for all the yearbooks I’m going to sign.”

 

Dustin took up the dialogue. “No I’m not. I’m actually going to do a draft of my bio for _The Hawkins Who’s Who of Stuck-up Horny High School Students_.”

 

Dustin giggled extensively at his own joke.

 

Then the girl with the pencil opened a little compact mirror and turned the pencil towards her eye.

 

Dustin gaped in horror. “No wait! Don’t poke out your own eyes!”

 

Lucas didn’t hesitate and responded, “I’ve never liked my eye color, so these eyes have _**got**_ to go.”

 

Mike and Will’s laughter broke the spell and Lucas and Dustin turned to look at them.

 

Mike said, “Jesus, Dustin! It’s a make-up pencil, not a weapon. Calm down.”

 

“You use one of those a lot, Miss America?”

 

“No, but I have a Mom and a sister, so fuck off before I jab a pencil in _**your**_ eye!”

 

“Ooh!” cried Lucas. “Eye gouge suplex from the top rope!”

 

Lucas mimed jumping up and stabbing at Dustin’s face, and the teen girls were completely forgotten.

 

Dustin and Lucas manhandled each other, first on the picnic table bench. Then they were openly wrestling all over the dusty ground.

 

Mike grabbed his Slurpee and took a sip. _Ah. Refreshing coolness._ Will cocked his head to one side and they both watched the fracas with interest, as if it was an actual WWF match.

 

In the end, Dustin managed to best Lucas and pinned him against the dead grass. Dustin then mimed stabbing Lucas in the face, and Lucas groaned and reached out a trembling hand to Will and Mike. As he dropped his hand to the ground in his apparent death throes, Lucas rasped, “Avenge me.”

 

Mike watched impassively, stirred his Slurpee with his straw and said, “At least his last word was his favorite one. ‘Me.’”

 

Will walked over to Dustin and extended a hand to help him up. “Congrats on your win.”

 

“It wasn’t worth it,” Dustin groaned as he struggled to his feet. “I think I pulled a muscle.”

 

From the ground where Lucas was still playing dead, with his eyes closed and tongue lolling out, he muttered out of the side of his mouth, “You don’t _**have**_ any muscles.”

 

Dustin made a move like he was going to kick Lucas, but Will firmly tugged on his arm and pulled him away.

 

Mike set down his Slurpee and walked over to offer Lucas his hand. “Those girls are gone. You think maybe now we can focus on finding some shade and getting our plans together for Junior High?”

 

The Party gathered up their things and headed for the now empty shady picnic table.

 

As they walked, Lucas asked, “What is there to plan about school anyhow? I mean, we’re all in the honors classes together.”

 

“The college prep track,” observed Dustin.

 

Lucas continued, “We have the same lunch period and we already know what classes we’ll have. What’s left? You want to plan our outfits?”

 

“No.” Dustin shook his head and offered Mike a sly grin. “Mike’s Mom does that _**for**_ him.”

 

Mike swallowed his sigh and tried not to make a face.

 

_They have a point. We’re in Junior High now, it’s time to stop letting Mom control me._

 

Mike tried to sound casual. “I told my Mom that I don’t care what she says. I’m going to let my hair grow out.”

 

“Ooh, such a rebel.”

 

“Shaggy dog!”

 

Dustin smiled at Will. “What about you, Good Cop? It’s a chance to change your image. Time to get rid of the bowl cut?”

 

Will pretended to think it over. “My heart says ‘yes,’ but my mom says ‘no’. It’s the only haircut she can pull off.”

 

This was true, Mike knew. Mrs. Byers had tried cutting Will’s hair differently in the past, but it kept being lopsided, so she just kept chopping more off on the _**other**_ side to correct it. And then she ping-ponged from side to side repeating the process, until Will looked like the kids who had their heads shaved due to lice.

 

“And I’m not changing my look either,” Lucas stated. “Why mess with perfection? So what is there to talk about? I don’t even want to _**think**_ about school yet. We still have a couple weeks of freedom left.”

 

Dustin shrugged. “Well we could always discuss the summer reading.”

 

Mike sat down at the shady picnic table in silence. Will sat beside him and Lucas and Dustin sat across from them. Mike didn’t know about any summer reading and a quick look at Lucas and Will told him they were caught off guard just like he was.

 

_On the other hand,_ thought Mike, _if any one of us can be counted on to pay strict attention to school requirements, it’s_ _ **definitely**_ _Dustin._

 

So Mike bit the bullet and asked, “Wait, there was summer reading?”

 

Dustin looked at each of his friends concerned faces in turn and then smiled. “Nah, I’m just fucking with ya.”

 

“Boo!”

 

“You’re the worst.”

 

“Thank goodness.”

 

Mike took a long sip of the syrup from the bottom of his frozen cola, and studied his friends from the corner of his eye. They didn’t seem worried about Junior High at _**all**_.

 

Mike had been worried about going to Junior High for a while now, and as summer vacation slipped away, he got more and more anxious about it.

 

_I don’t know why I’m nervous to talk to The Party about it_ , he thought. _It’s not like we’re the bravest guys around. I mean, Lucas shrieked like a baby when we saw that garter snake. And we didn’t make fun of_ _ **him**_ _._

 

_Much._

 

He slapped his cup down on the table with more force than necessary. “I mean, aren’t any of you worried about Junior High at all?”

 

Mike surveyed their blank faces, and felt his stomach knot.

 

“Because I am,” Mike admitted. Then he amended quickly, “A little.”

 

“I am too. A little,” said Will.

 

_Thank god for Will_ , thought Mike.

 

Now Lucas looked concerned. He turned to Will. “Like what about?”

 

Will shrugged. “I dunno, being back with all the big kids, I guess.”

 

The other three nodded.

 

“Yes!” Mike said. “Back in the same school with all the giant bullies? _**Not**_ good. And then I started to think about how our school is so close to the High School now, and that means even _**bigger**_ kids.”

 

“I thought of that too,” Will said in a reassuring tone. “But being closer to the High School just means we’re closer to Jonathan and Nancy and Barb too.”

 

_That is a true statement_ , thought Mike, _but from hearing things Barb said about her and Jonathan’s spots on the High School food chain, I am_ _ **not**_ _sure how much help_ _ **they’re**_ _going to be_.

 

But Mike kept that observation to himself.

 

“I guess, but it’s all such a change. We’re going to have to go from class to class to class all the time.”

 

Lucas smirked. “Aww if you’re scared or get lost, I’ll hold your hand, Mikey.”

 

“That’s not it,” interrupted Dustin. “I think he’s just lazy and doesn’t want to have to walk around between classes.”

 

“Fine,” said Mike evenly, “Aren’t _**any**_ of you going to miss recess?”

 

That got them all thinking and earned Mike some dejected looks.

 

“I guess we’re too old to play now,” murmured Will.

 

Lucas shrugged. “I guess the closest thing we get is, like, lunch or study hall.”

 

“Or Gym Class,” mused Dustin.

 

Mike turned on Dustin. “Don’t get me started about Gym Class. Sports? Showers? Aren’t you nervous about **that**?”

 

Will and Lucas reluctantly nodded.

 

Dustin looked around at the other three and asked, “About what?”

 

Mike noticed that Dustin wasn’t asking in a challenging or mocking way, he just seemed genuinely curious to find out what was making the others nervous.

 

Lucas and Will just stared at Mike.

 

_I guess since I brought it up, I get elected spokesman_.

 

He shrugged. “I mean it's obvious isn’t it? It’s just _**weird**_ to think about getting naked at school, right?”

 

Dustin cocked his head as if in thought. He shrugged right back at Mike. “I mean, at Explorer Camp and Theater Camp there were open showers. At Explorer Camp they were outside, just enclosed by a wooden fence. The locker rooms have _**walls**_. So I guess I just don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

 

Mike knew the Junior High and High School had open showers in each locker-room too, and Dustin’s description filled him with dread. “Jesus! Why don’t they just line us up and turn the hose on us?”

 

Lucas and Will rewarded Mike with nervous laughter.

 

But Dustin just sucked on his Slurpee and scratched his peeling nose and continued his shrug parade. “I guess I just don’t mind taking my clothes off in front of other people.”

 

Mike looked at Lucas immediately, and they both said in unison: “We know!”

 

Dustin chuckled. “Just don’t look then. I am as Lucas’s God made me. I can’t help it if he does shoddy work.”

 

Lucas instantly smacked Dustin on the back of the head, which knocked off Dustin’s cap. Dustin only laughed and dropped his hat onto the table. His hair blew off his forehead and he took the opportunity to scratch at his peeling skin. “What’s the big deal anyway? I’ve seen all of you change about a hundred times. You don’t have anything to write home about, but you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, either.”

 

“It’s not you guys I’m worried about,” Mike stressed. “It’s all the _**other**_ people. I mean, it won’t just be seventh graders in our gym class, right? Can you imagine changing in front of Troy and James?”

 

Dustin started coughing and choking, he sounded like a herd of dying animals. For a second, Mike thought he’d finally gotten through to Dustin and all the shower talk scared him.

 

Mike quickly realized Dustin wasn’t reacting to the horror of being naked in front of their tormentors, when Dustin wheezed out: “Help me I ate dead skin!”

 

The rest of them laughed, and Mike felt some of the tension leave him. No one rushed to provide the “help” Dustin had called for.

 

Dustin’s eyes were watering furiously when he finally calmed down enough to explain what was already obvious to The Party. “My peeling forehead skin. It went in my mouth. I _**ate**_ it.”

 

This caused another round of laughter from Lucas and Mike, but Will walked around to Dustin’s side of the table and patted his back gently, like he was trying to burp a baby.

 

“It’s just your skin, Dustin. Aren’t you the one who’s always pointing out how many bugs we all swallow each night? This is no big deal.”

 

Dustin sputtered, “Well showering is no big deal either. We’ll just stick together like we always do. That works, right?”

 

_Only to a degree_ , Mike thought. But he didn’t say that aloud, nodding along with Lucas and Will.

 

“Well, it’ll probably work when we’re naked too, then.”

 

Mike thought there was probably some joke to be made there about not wanting to stick together when they were naked, but Dustin was trying to be reassuring, so he let the moment pass.

 

“Besides, there’s going to be cool things at Junior High too,” Dustin informed them.

 

“Yeah,” Will agreed, while returning to his Slurpee. “Every year there’s an all school skate at Funway.”

 

Lucas nodded excitedly. “Yeah, the whole school at an all-night skating party.”

 

Mike secretly dreaded that too, since he was a lousy skater. But Funway also had foosball and skee-ball and some video games too, so it wouldn’t be a total loss.

 

“Okay, sure,” he said.

 

“And all the extra subjects and after school stuff,” Dustin continued, counting off good points on his fingers.

 

“Exactly,” Lucas agreed. “I mean, we’re still going to take over the AV Club right?”

 

“Well we can join it,” said Mike skeptically, “But there may be a bunch of Eighth Graders who are going to be in charge.”

 

Will shook his his head. “I don’t think so. Jonathan told me that he didn’t think there would be much competition to lead the AV Club, so maybe we have a shot after all?”

 

Mike nodded. He liked the sound of that. Against all odds, The Party was making him feel better.

 

Lucas turned to Dustin. “Are there any other cool clubs?”

 

Dustin shrugged. “I looked for an Astronomy club. But not until High School.”

 

Lucas nudged him, “What about a Chess club?”

 

“High school. There are language clubs and clubs for other subjects too, but not until High School.”

 

They were silent for a moment, until Will said softly, “I’ve been thinking I might go out for the chorus.”

 

When no one responded, Will continued. “It’s just a thought though. I’d be really nervous to try out for it.”

 

Lucas wagged his eyebrows at Will. “Just sing the song you sang earlier as your tryout. That’ll make a _**real**_ impression. You’ll get in for sure. In _**detention**_.”

 

“Leave him alone,” scolded Dustin. “I’ll try out for chorus with you, Will.”

 

Mike frowned. “You know you have to give up your study hall to take Band or Chorus, right?”

 

“Sure. That’s no big deal.” Then Dustin turned to Will. “We can tryout together, okay?”

 

Will looked grateful. “Okay. I just wonder if I’m good enough to get in.”

 

Dustin’s smile never faltered. He gave a little laugh and said, “You’ve got what it takes, Will, for _**sure**_.”

 

Will blushed and asked, “You really think I’ve got a good enough voice?”

 

Dustin put his cap back on and gave Will a confused look. “No. The thing _**you’ve**_ got is between your legs, dummy.”

 

Mike and Lucas burst out laughing, but Will looked shocked.

 

Dustin explained, “Will, no matter how good or bad your _**voice**_ is, you’re a _**guy**_ who is willingly going out for _**chorus**_. They’re going to take _**every**_ boy that tries out.”

 

Dustin nodded sagely and shot Will a broad smile. “I’ll tell you, Theater Camp was _**filled**_ with the ladies. Chorus will be too. We’re going to be hot commodities in chorus.”

 

Will smiled back at Dustin and they both turned to Mike and Lucas expectantly.

 

“No way,” Lucas said quickly.

 

Mike shook his head. “No. I do _**not**_ have a great singing voice.”

 

Lucas looked at Mike. “If those two are doing chorus, maybe we should do something together, right?”

 

Mike plastered on a fake smile and said enthusiastically, “Yeah, we could go out for _**sports**_!”

 

They all laughed uproariously at that, including Mike himself. Mike was gratified to see Dustin had to wipe tears from his eyes, he was laughing so hard. And Mike hoped that would be the end of it.

 

Lucas wouldn’t let it drop, though. “Seriously though. We could do something too. What about speech and debate?”

 

Mike shrugged. “We’re all going to do AV Club together, right? Isn’t that enough? I mean, from what Nancy says, I’m going to have a hard time adjusting to moving from class to class and keeping up with all the homework anyway.”

 

Lucas scoffed. “C’mon Mike, we’re _**all**_ going to have the same homework.”

 

“Well maybe I’m not as smart as you guys, maybe it’s harder for me.”

 

“That’s not true,” said Dustin matter of factly, “You’re pretty high in the Intelligence rankings, I think you’re just lazier than the rest of us.”

 

Dustin looked surprised by the glares his friends shot him. Lucas narrowed his eyes at Dustin. “What, do you have us all _**ranked**_ on who you think is smarter?”

 

Dustin seemed nonplussed by their reaction, and shrugged. “Sure, I have us all ranked on _**tons**_ of attributes. But only compared to each other. You know we’re all in the top 97th percentile according to those standardized tests we took. Compared to most everyone we’re smart. So even the lowest ranked of the four of us is still _**really**_ smart.”

 

Dustin clearly meant his explanation to sound complimentary and reassuring, but his words didn’t have the desired effect.

 

Mike spoke very slowly and asked, “What _**else**_ do you rank, Dustin?”

 

Dustin looked relieved when Will jumped into the conversation, pleading, “C’mon guys, let’s not get into this. People will get their feelings hurt. Lucas was telling us about speech and debate.”

 

Lucas refocused his attention on Mike. “Speech and debate made me think of you right away, Wheeler.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well for the debate part, you _**love**_ to argue. With me. With _**anyone**_. And there’s other stuff too, like dramatic readings and acting and stuff where you talk off the top of your head. You’re great at that shit.”

 

Mike was surprised.

 

_Has hell frozen over? Lucas Sinclair is saying nice things? About me?_

 

Will sucked the last of his Slurpee through his straw, making that stuttering farty noise that meant that there was nothing left in the cup. He sighed with pleasure and then said, “You do love doing voices and stuff.”

 

Dustin pointed a finger gun at him. “And you love being right.”

 

Lucas shrugged as if it he didn’t care one way or the other. “Maybe it’d be right up your alley?”

 

Mike narrowed his eyes at the three of them. Then he turned his attention to Lucas. “Is this _**your**_ try out for speech and debate right here and now? Is the subject of your speech trying to persuade someone else to join?”

 

Mike looked around theatrically, leaning over to see behind trees, and peeking under the picnic table. “Is there a teacher watching and grading you or something?”

 

Lucas looked a little dejected, and said, “Just think about it, okay?”

 

“You should say please.”

 

“Bite me. Please. But _**also**_ , think about signing up for speech and debate with me. Please.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Mike said grudgingly.

 

“That’s all I’m asking.”

 

Lucas got up and threw his empty Slurpee cup into the trash can. “So, where to next, Julie?” he asked brightly. “We still haven’t been to _**my**_ favorite spot yet.”

 

“Yeah,” Dustin added, “If I’m supposed to make sure we have enough money to spend during the rest of this adventure, it would be a big help to know where all we’re going and how much we’ll need as we go.”

 

“Fair point,” Mike agreed.

 

Mike pulled out a piece of paper from his backpack, which he would argue until his dying breath was _**not**_ an itinerary, and showed them the rest of the plan.

 

\---

 

Mike didn’t know which one of them loved Chimera Hobby Shop the most.

 

Chimera was the local hobby shop and its sign was a stylized silhouette of the mythical beast with a lion’s head, a goat’s body and a serpent’s tail.

 

Lucas loved it because Chimera was the place his Dad came to buy his boxed hex and counter war games. Will loved it because this was the only place in town that had back issues of comics, piled into huge long-boxes you could search through for hours. Dustin loved it because he liked to shoot the shit with the other customers and especially with Randy, the bearded giant of a man who owned the place. Mike loved it because this was where he had first seen Dungeons and Dragons, and where he got all his books and minis for the campaigns.

 

The Party had argued about why Chimera Hobby Shop had the name that it did. Mike thought the owner was going for an exotic and hard to pronounce name. Will thought it was all about the visual of the great beast for the sign and business cards. Lucas had the best idea because he thought the shop was just like the beast it was named after-- made up of such different things. Chimera Hobby Shop was part comic book store, part game store, and part miniatures store.

 

It really appealed to three different crowds. The comic geeks all flocked to Chimera because even though you could get comics at lots of stores – even 7-Eleven had a spin rack – new comics came out _**every**_ week at Chimera. There was this whole other group of modelists and historical war gamers that came in for the model sets and historical miniatures which could be set up in huge displays to create representations of historical battles. Then there were the gamers who came in to check out the games. Ones you would never see at K-Bee Toys or Melvald’s. There were all these war games and imported games, and of course, the role-playing games that captured Mike’s imagination.

 

Lucas’s theory had been accepted by The Party as fact, since it made so much sense. The Chimera of mythology was like three different creatures mashed into one, and Chimera the store was like three or more stores housed under the same roof.

 

It wasn’t until last year, when the boys had gotten a little less shy when talking to adults, that they found out the truth. They were gathered around the counter, peppering Randy with question after question, when finally Dustin -- who had the easiest time talking to adults -- outright asked Randy why he named the store “Chimera.”

 

Randy had explained that the word “chimera” had another meaning too. Like a delusion or fantasy you wish for, but that’s impossible to achieve. Randy had said, “And that’s pretty much what the bank told me when they turned down my loan application for this store. That a profitable hobby store in a town the size of Hawkins was like a pipe-dream. So when I opened this place without any help from them, I named it ‘Chimera’ to thumb my nose at them.”

 

Mike smiled, recalling the story. Ever since that day, Randy had become something of an idol to Dustin. Mike was never really sure if it was because Randy took the time to talk to them, or because he seemed really smart, or simply because he thought word-play was the best revenge. Either way, The Party often stopped by Chimera even if they didn’t have any money to spend. It was enough to browse all the cool and unique stuff, or just chat with other like-minded people.

 

\---

 

Lucas was flipping through the latest issue of _The New Teen Titans_ and listening to Dustin tease Will.

 

They were browsing the comics, because Dustin had announced when they arrived they had enough money in the “adventure budget” for them each to spend a buck-fifty on comics.

 

Will had already grabbed an issue of _The Uncanny X-Men_ with Kitty Pryde featured prominently on the cover.

 

“I think you have a thing for Kitty Pryde,” teased Dustin in a sing-song voice.

 

“I don’t have a _**thing**_ for anyone, Dustin,” Will replied.

 

“I dunno, I seem to remember you going out of your way to trade two-for-one for that one issue when they were fighting the Brood and she was on the cover in a ripped up dress.”

 

Lucas chuckled and remarked, “I mean, that was definitely Kitty’s slave-Leia moment, Will.”

 

“Only you two would notice something like that,” scoffed Will. “I just like stories that feature Kitty. She’s awesome and always tries her best and she’s humble and _**nice**_.” Then Will turned away from them and said under his breath, “I wish some of _**my**_ friends were like that.”

 

“She is nice,” Dustin agreed. “And she’s supposed to be only a little older than us, so I get it. She reminds me of Phantom Girl from the Legion.”

 

“Another nice girl with dark hair,” observed Lucas.

 

“That’s true,” considered Dustin. “Why can all the nice girls walk through walls?”

 

“Not all of them.” Lucas turned the comic to show an image of Donna Troy from Teen Titans. “Wonder Girl just punches through them.”

 

“Man, three of my faves,” enthused Dustin. “I know it’s impossible, but those three should have a team up.”

 

Lucas smirked. “I think _**you**_ have a thing, Dustin, not Will. And it feels like you definitely have a ‘type’. A Kitty Pryde, Phantom Girl, Wonder Girl team-up would be sort of pointless, they’re all pretty much the same character. Nice approachable girl-next door types with dark hair.”

 

Will turned back to his friends. “I think that’s true Dustin,” he said innocently. “I think maybe _**you**_ have a thing for girl-next door types with dark hair.”

 

Lucas put his hand to his chin in mock-thought. “You know that sort of reminds me of someone, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

 

Will shrugged. “I mean, maybe she’ll be around tonight.”

 

Lucas continued, “Maybe you can ask her to tuck you in and give you a good night kiss.”

 

Then Will and Lucas both made kissy faces and smooching sounds in Dustin’s general direction.

 

Then, as if summoned by magic, or the kissy noises, Mike rounded the corner and eyed them all suspiciously. “What’re you guys talking about?”

 

Lucas chuckled as Dustin turned a shade of pink that was noticeable despite his sunburn.

 

Will and Dustin and Lucas all exchanged quick looks and said in unison, “Nothing.”

 

\---

 

Will jumped when Mike touched him on the shoulder.

 

Will sat cross-legged on the ground in front of the long magazine racks that housed all the new comics. Will had been so engrossed in a new comic’s amazing art, he didn’t even notice when Mike sat down right next to him.

 

“Sorry,” Mike said, withdrawing his hand. “You weren’t answering me.” Mike folded his hands in his lap. “Sorry,” he repeated.

 

“That’s okay. What were you saying?”

 

Mike inclined his head to see the issue Will was holding. “Just asking what you had there. I don’t know that one.”

 

“Me either,” Will admitted. “I think it’s new. This is issue number one.”

 

He turned the comic’s cover toward Mike so he could see the title, _Ronin_ by Frank Miller. Will quickly flipped back to the interior art and held it up to Mike. “This is beautiful.”

 

Mike studied the pages. “It’s . . . different. Different from what we usually like.”

 

Will knew Mike’s pause and the use of ‘different’ meant he didn’t like the art. Will could understand that. Mike liked what Will considered “classic” comic art. Meaning it needed to be clean and pretty. John Byrne and George Perez came to mind.

 

_But this_ , Will thought, _This is beautiful in a totally different way._

 

It was stylized and the figure work was arguably the opposite of clean.

 

_It’s muddy. Or dirty. Or gritty. Even though it has such a different style, in_ _**some** _ _ways_ _**this** _ _looks more_ _**real.** _

 

Will really wanted Mike to understand what was so cool about the artwork, so he tried to put what he was feeling into words.

 

“I mean, look at this panel work, Mike. How it draws your eye through the story. I feel like it almost doesn’t need any words at all to tell the story.”

 

Mike nodded along thoughtfully.

 

Will flipped forward a few pages. “And look at these panels; how they’re arranged vertically to really show the size of the demon-thing. This is amazing.”

 

Mike looked at him appreciatively. “You know a lot about this stuff, Will.”

 

Will shrugged. “I’m looking at the same thing you are.”

 

“Okay. I guess I mean you _**notice**_ a lot more about that stuff than I do **.** It’s really cool.” Mike tilted his head to one side. “You know what I think?”

 

“Usually no. You’re a mystery.”

 

“I think you should do your own comic sometime. You’d be awesome at it.”

 

Will gave Mike a dubious look. “I don’t know if I could come up with a whole story all on my own, Marvel style. But how about DC style where _**you**_ make up the story and write it out first and I draw from your script?”

 

This had the intended effect. Mike puffed up a little and looked so happy, Will couldn’t help smiling. “We should _**totally**_ do that,” Mike said enthusiastically.

 

“Maybe when my drawing gets a little better.”

 

“Or when my stories get a little better.”

 

“Your stories are already good. I really liked that part of the recent campaign where we woke up trapped in an unfamiliar building and had to try to figure out where we were.”

 

Mike nodded. “Yeah, I was inspired by all of Dustin’s locked-room mysteries to have a closed setting. I wanted to give Orsik something to figure out.”

 

“And we thought the building was surrounded by a force field. But it turned out it was just glass all along and the building and all of us got shrunken down and put into a bottle.”

 

Mike smiled, “You know I just ripped that off from _Superman_ , right?”

 

Will nodded. “Sure, the bottle city of Kandor. But it was the way you did it. If it had been obvious Dustin would have figured it out right away. You crafted a true mystery.”

 

“Thanks. But I think you’re underestimating your own story skills. What about that time you guys were falling into the lava and you had Will the Wise change it into Jell-O?”

 

Will laughed at the memory. “You just let me get away with anything, Mike.”

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

“ _ **They**_ think you do. Lucas is always accusing you of playing favorites.”

 

“I _**don’t**_. You’re just the only magic user in the group, Will. Trust me, if any member of the party wanted to change the deadly lava into a fun dessert, I would've let them.”

 

That sounded true to Will. “If you say so.”

 

“I do. And just think of the weird songs Orsik the Bard will be able to sing one day. All about a party who fireball each other and purposefully leap off of cliffs and engage in Jell-O wrestling on the side.”

 

Will laughed and thought, _If we ever_ _ **do**_ _make a comic it will be_ _ **very**_ _weird._

 

\---

 

Dustin was leaning against the counter listening to two older guys talk _Star Wars_ with Chimera’s owner, Randy.

 

They had already debated at length if they were ever going to make any of the other episodes in George Lucas’s rumored nine-episode plan. The consensus was “no.”

 

Then they had engaged in a long discussion about how creepy the first movie was because of all the times it implied a big romance between Luke and Leia. Since they turned out to be twins, the romantic tension apparently didn’t sit well with these two guys anymore. Dustin learned something new, too. Apparently there was a Star Wars novel that had an outright romance between Leia and Luke in it. This implied to Dustin that the brother and sister thing had been made up after the fact, or George Lucas kept his story secrets on lock-down.

 

_Kind of like Mike_ , Dustin thought.

 

Dustin leaned against the counter in a cluster with the bigger kids; Randy’s towering form was on the other side of the counter. An outside observer might have thought they were all together, but honestly, Dustin hadn’t had the courage to butt in with his own opinions yet. Dustin felt comfortable talking to Randy, but these guys were clearly High School age, and their offhanded references to driving and sex made Dustin keep his mouth shut, so far.

 

Now the teens had graduated to debating the meaning of the insult “nerf herder.”

 

One of the teens asked the other two, “So what do you think it means?”

 

The other high schooler said, “I dunno, is it like ‘motherfucker’ or what?”

 

Dustin’s eyes widened and he grinned. Normally people didn’t use curse words around anyone they considered to be a “little kid”.

 

_Maybe I’m like one of the guys now?_

 

But none of them had looked at or addressed him directly.

 

_Or maybe they don’t even know I’m here?_

 

Dustin looked to Randy, confident he would have an immediate answer, along with several synonyms for nerf herder at the ready.

 

_After all, this is the guy who taught The Party words like ‘myriad’ and ‘omnipotent.’_

 

Dustin was sure he would know.

 

But Randy just shook his head and brought his hand up to scratch at his beard in a thinking pose. The teens stared at Randy expectantly, which caused a lull in the conversation.

 

_This is my chance_ , thought Dustin.

 

Dustin drew himself up to his full height and interjected, “Y’know, I don’t think ‘nerf herder’ is supposed to be ‘motherfucker’. Isn’t it more like what the city mouse would call the country mouse? Isn’t it closer to something like ‘country bumpkin’ or ‘shitkicker’ or something?”

 

Dustin loved the looks on their faces as the group turned to look at him. The teens regarded him in shocked amazement and Randy just continued to scratch his chin. Those looks were even better than saying “motherfucker” in public with no consequences.

 

Then the best thing of all happened. Randy nodded and said, “I think Dustin’s right.”

 

_That is my_ _**favorite** _ _sentence in the whole world._

 

Dustin’s triumph was short lived. The phone rang and Randy turned away to answer it, then one teenager told the other he had to get to work.

 

Then it was just Dustin standing at the counter aimlessly, with no one to talk to, and no cool adult conversations to eavesdrop on. He went off in search of the others, eager to tell them of his triumph with the older kids. He found Lucas just where he predicted he would, parked in front of the shelf containing hex and counter war games, many of them put out by Avalon Hill.

 

Lucas saw him approach and held up the box he was looking at to Dustin. It wasn’t a historical war game, which Dustin always thought were either boring or super depressing if you thought about them too much. This game looked like it had a science fiction premise of alien invasion or something, and had a tag line that said in bold letters: “When War is the Only Answer.”

 

Dustin raised his eyebrows at that. “My mom always says that war is _**never**_ the answer.”

 

“Well that’s just wrong,” replied Lucas.

 

“Leave it to Mister ‘my Dad won the war single-handedly’ to say that.”

 

Lucas rolled his eyes. “It’s not even about that. That just doesn’t make sense. What if the question is: ‘what’s the palindrome of raw’?”

 

Dustin pursed his lips at Lucas and glared.

 

“Or how about this question, ‘what’s the name of that two-player card game where you halve the deck and flip up cards from each side?”

 

Dustin shrugged. “Fine. You’re right.”

 

Lucas put the game box he’d been holding back on the shelf.

 

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you how cool I was just now with Randy and those older kids.”

 

Lucas looked at him skeptically. “Wait, they _**said**_ that? _**They**_ called _**you**_ cool?”

 

Dustin stopped short and frowned at Lucas’s tone. “I’m cool.”

 

“They _**said**_ that?”

 

“Well, no.”

 

“Who has _**ever**_ said that?”

 

Dustin thought for a second and then opened his mouth to answer.

 

Lucas cut him off. “Besides your Mom, dude.”

 

Dustin closed his mouth and stood there fuming, trying to think up a good comeback. He was still thinking when Mike joined them.

 

\---

 

Mike could tell that there was some weird tension between Dustin and Lucas as he approached them.

 

_So what else is new?_

 

“Hey, Will and me were talking while you were gone about maybe doing another group costume for Halloween this year. Think of it.” He raised his hands to sell it: “ _Star Wars_.”

 

Dustin grinned, “I call Chewie!” Then he opened his mouth wide and did a full-throated impression of the Wookiee’s victory roar.

 

“Nice.”

 

“Good one.”

 

Then Dustin snapped his finger at Mike. “You should be Yoda. You can do the voice.”

 

Mike put on a placid expression and said in a distinctly Yoda-like voice: “Teepee your house, I will.”

 

Lucas laughed.

 

Dustin tried on his own Yoda voice. “You must use the force for treats, not tricks. Tricks lead to tattling. Tattling leads to grounding.”

 

“Your impressions lead to barfing,” quipped Lucas.

 

Mike had considered being Yoda, but the make-up, ears, and the size difference made it too hard to be part of a group costume.

 

“Yoda seems a little out of reach. I was thinking of being Han Solo.”

 

Dustin patted him on the back excitedly. “Millennium Falcon to the rescue.”

 

Lucas narrowed his eyes at Mike. “Of course you were.”

 

“What? I have the dark hair. I already have a black vest and the blaster.”

 

“Okay,” said Lucas evenly. “We gonna have a Luke in the group?”

 

“Sure. I thought Will could be Luke.”

 

Lucas’s expression darkened further. “Of course you did. It sounds like you thought about this a lot. Who did you think I would be?”

 

“I figured you could be Lando.” Mike made a gesture to encompass the three of them. “Together we would be all three of the Millennium Falcon’s pilots.”

 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it. Is this what all that mustache talk was about before? To butter me up for this bullshit?”

 

“No. Why are you mad?”

 

“Because you cast me as Lando in your head. There were other obvious choices. ‘Lucas’ sounds a lot like some Star Wars name doesn’t it? Maybe ‘Luke’? But you never thought of that, did you?”

 

Mike wasn’t sure where this was coming from, but he instantly regretted bringing it up when he knew one or both of them was in a bad mood.

 

“It was just an idea.”

 

“Okay,” nodded Lucas. “I like the idea of us all doing Star Wars costumes. And I like the idea of pairing up too. So why don’t _**I**_ dress up as Han and pair up with Dustin as Chewie.”

 

“And?”

 

“And **you** can pair up with Will for that other famous Star Wars pair. You can be the taller, fussy, useless robot who’s always talking, and Will can be the shorter one who’s nice and actually accomplishes something.”

 

Mike pressed his lips together in a thin little line, and glared at Dustin who was struggling not to laugh, and failing miserably.

 

“Just an idea though,” Lucas shot over his shoulder as walked away.

 

\---

 

Dustin stayed with Mike when Lucas stalked off.

 

He was still mad at Lucas himself. So even though he thought Lucas had a point, and that the droid joke was pretty good, he stayed with Mike and let Lucas go to cool off.

 

_Mike looks as shell-shocked as I felt when Lucas pointed out how uncool I am._

 

“Don’t listen to him. He’s just being a jerk.”

 

Mike just shrugged.

 

“He’s always a jerk to me,” Dustin continued. “I found out from Will recently that he’s been calling the day I moved to town ‘D-day’ for years.”

 

Mike didn’t respond, so Dustin continued down his list, “And remember that time he punched me on the arm _**so**_ hard it left a bruise?”

 

Mike finally looked at him. “To be fair, that _**was**_ the day you tricked him into putting that battery on his tongue, so . . . “

 

Dustin huffed. “Sure, take his side.”

 

“Besides, I think I argue with Lucas just as much as you do.” Then Mike gestured all around him to the ghost of the blow-up that had just happened. “Clearly.”

 

Dustin nodded. “Yeah, it’s like an alpha nerd thing with you two. Your commitment to always taking sides against one another is something only your over-blown egos can explain.”

 

Mike was quiet for a while, and Dustin didn’t know what else to say.

 

“I don’t know why I’m like that. I don’t _**mean**_ to be like that.”

 

“You both like to fight.”

 

“I don’t mean about that. We always argue. I meant the other thing. I don’t think about him like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like my _**black**_ friend. He’s just . . . my friend.” Mike looked down and shook his head. Dustin took this to mean he was shaking his head at _**himself**_.

 

When Mike finally spoke again, he said, “I can lend him the vest and the blaster.”

 

“Just don’t say you’ll ‘borrow’ it to him. He’ll lose his mind.”

 

“I won’t. That way you guys can be Han and Chewie.”

 

“And what’ll you do?”

 

Mike bit his lip, thinking. “Well I think Will really wants to be Luke, so maybe we can be pairs from the _**first**_ movie instead, and I could be Obi-Wan. I think I can get Nancy to help me with the beard.”

 

“It’ll be a preview for when you get your ZZ Top beard later.”

 

“Yeah.” Mike was regarding Dustin thoughtfully, and Dustin started to wither under the scrutiny.

 

“What?”

 

“Y’know, Lucas _**did**_ come up with the nickname ‘D-Day’ for the day we met you, but it doesn’t mean what you seem to think it means.”

 

“Oh no? I’ll bet you Lucas is always saying that _**he**_ regrets D-Day more than the Nazis sometimes.”

 

“No,” Mike shook his head. “No way. Lucas goes on and on about how history buffs think of D-Day as the turning point in the war for the allies. And I think Lucas thinks of you moving here as a turning point for The Party. And I do too. In a good way.”

 

Dustin narrowed his eyes at Mike. He didn’t feel ready to let it go.

 

“He _**never**_ said that to be mean.” Mike shrugged. “You just had a _**big**_ impact, you know? To use Lucas terms, you should wear that as a badge of honor.”

 

\---

 

Lucas cooled off pretty quickly once Mike told him his new bright idea.

 

Mike pulled Lucas away from Will so they could talk quietly in the back corner where all the historical minis were.

 

They agreed on the Obi-Wan, Luke, Han and Chewie line-up, and promised that they would broach it with their Moms soon.

 

_More notice is better, and if my Mom and Mrs. Wheeler get on board, the rest of the Mom Spy Network will fall in line nicely._

 

Mike then suggested Lucas go find the others and meet him at the checkout. So Lucas wandered back toward the center of the store looking for Will or Dustin.

 

Strangely enough, Lucas found them together in the war game section, of all places. They were huddled together and Dustin was holding a bookcase style war game that looked like it was set in a forested area. They were reading the description on the back of the box.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Here’s our expert,” Dustin said.

 

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “You’re just who we need, Lucas.”

 

“Tell us what you think of this. This game implies that this is a decent military tactic, but we want your take.”

 

They were both acting weird. They were acting like they were reading something off the back of the box to him, but neither of them were actually looking at the box.

 

_Did they memorize the back of the box?_

 

Will started, “So what if one side has a larger force. . .”

 

Dustin continued, “And the large force isn’t just numerically superior, but also has better technology and weapons . . .”

 

“And the big team are the ones invading, so they don’t know the area as well . . . “

 

“So could the local population like _**disrupt**_ the invaders by using their knowledge of the terrain and like making surprise attacks?”

 

“Yeah,” concluded Will. “Does that sound like it would work?”

 

Lucas thought this over. It sounded correct and smart to him. It sounded just like something his Dad had told him about.

 

“Yeah,” Lucas told them. “That sounds smart. My Dad says that’s called ‘guerilla warfare’. The smaller force can use their mobility and hit and run tactics to their advantage.”

 

“Neat,” said Will.

 

“Wow,” Dustin marveled, “Guerilla warfare, huh?”

 

Now they were both giving him the weirdest looks. Like they were the cats that swallowed the canary.

 

“What? Is it about that game?”

 

“Nope.” Will was still smiling as he shrugged, took the game from Dustin, and placed it back on the shelf. “Nothing to do with that.”

 

“All _**we**_ were doing was describing why the Ewoks were so important in _Return of the Jedi_ ,” Dustin finished gleefully.

 

Will got all up in Lucas’s face and used his hands for emphasis. “Ewoks. Equal. Guerilla Warfare.” Then he turned to Dustin, one finger on his chin. “Shouldn’t it really be Teddy Bear warfare instead of gorillas?”

 

“Different spelling.”

 

Lucas glared at them. “I hate you both.”

 

Then Dustin joined Will in invading Lucas’s personal space, and they nodded at each other and said in unison, “Yub-fucking-Nub!”

 

\---

 

Will was surprised when Mike offered to pool their share of the comic money so Will could get the issue of _Ronin_ , but he jumped at the chance.

 

Dustin still let them get the Kitty Pryde issue too, since together they were only at, like, $3.10.

 

The four of them checked out their comics and they were now heading to the front exit. Lucas was in the lead and pushed the door open to the street. The door banged into a patron on his way in, and made him spill some of his Cheetos.

 

One look at the lanky frame and stringy hair and Will knew it was Keith.

 

Keith was an older teen they were all familiar with. He was around Jonathan’s age, and Will couldn’t remember ever seeing him without some sort of junk food in his hands. Today Keith was munching on a bag of Cheetos cheese puffs.

 

Will looked down at the Cheetos littering the sidewalk, and hoped the accident’s silver lining was Keith would get 50% less cheese dust on the merchandise.

 

Keith was the type of older kid Will always thought they should be friends with. He liked all the same things The Party did, and they often saw him around Chimera or at the same movies they went to. But Keith was one of those older kids who liked to lord it over the younger ones, and Mike and Lucas didn’t have much patience for that.

 

“Hey, watch it!” Keith barked at them. “Look what you did! You’re really strutting around like King Shit, Sinclair.”

 

Lucas fixed Keith with a doe-eyed stare and said innocently, “This air of superiority hides a frightened and insecure soul.”

 

Will was familiar with Lucas’s little joke.

 

Keith looked dumbfounded and didn’t seem to know how to respond.

 

Dustin, ever willing to play the straight man, leaned over and whispered, “Is that true?”

 

Lucas smiled. “No. But you guys always seem less threatened when I say stuff like that.”

 

Keith pushed between Lucas and Dustin. “Get outta my way, you wastoids.”

 

Then he noticed Mike and Will. Keith fixed his eyes on Mike and with a leer asked, “Wheeler. How is that sister of yours?“

 

Mike just brushed past Keith and out the door while saying calmly, “Better than you in every way.”

 

Keith pulled a face and said, “What do you mean by that?” and reached out to grab Mike’s arm with orange tinted fingers. Mike didn’t pull away and managed to look only slightly alarmed. Mike said, “Just what I said.”

 

Then Mike yanked his arm out of Keith’s grip and counted off Nancy’s attributes on his fingers. He ticked them off as he spoke: “Smarter, taller, nicer, better looking. Do I need to go on?”

 

Will smiled to himself as he also passed to the outside. The whole party knew Mike’s position on guys like Keith. Mike was pretty resigned to take shit off the jocks and the bullies, but he was not inclined to let older dorks _**also**_ pick on them just because they were older and a little bit bigger.

 

Keith gave a look which implied they were not even worth his time and said dismissively, “Just get out of here, you stupid little grade schoolers.”

 

“Hey!” shouted Dustin lamely as Keith went into Chimera and the door closed on them, leaving them alone with the discarded Cheetos on the sidewalk.

 

“We’re _**not**_ grade schoolers! We’re going into Junior High!”

 

\---

 

Dustin considered himself the expert of The Party on videos and VCRs.

 

Truth be told, Dustin considered himself the expert of The Party on a _**lot**_ of topics.

 

But in this instance, regarding VCRs at least, Dustin had done the research and had the experience to back it up.

 

Last year, for Christmas, the Henderson household was the first in The Party to get a VCR, and this could mostly be credited to Dustin’s persistence. Dustin lobbied hard to convince his Mom they _**needed**_ a VCR in order to tape her soaps during the day and for those crazy weeknights when the only two things they wanted to watch were on opposite each other.

 

It had been a flat “no” at first, but Dustin kept at it. He researched the differences between VHS and Betamax to figure out which one was better. The longer recording time was the real selling point in favor of VHS. After consulting with the nice guy at Radio Shack, Dustin was convinced VHS was the way to go. It didn’t hurt that the VHS machines were also cheaper.

 

_That may have been the more convincing argument for Mom_.

 

So the Hendersons got a VHS machine. Dustin’s Mom had become addicted to it, but she still had almost no idea how to use it. She relied on Dustin for everything related to the machine, which Dustin didn’t mind at all.

 

Dustin still relished the memory of the first time The Party came over to watch a movie on cassette and their amazed reactions. They all asked Dustin to tape something off TV for them since their TV time was limited, and their parents monopolized the TV at the worst moments. Dustin was pleased to be of service to his friends, and the ability to time shift when they watched stuff allowed them to watch more things together as a Party.

 

Once Dustin had shown off the VCR to The Party, Mike was so jealous he eventually got Nancy on board for a joint sibling effort to get their folks to buy one too. And earlier this year, the Wheelers finally caved. This summer was the first one that let The Party watch movies so regularly.

 

_Whenever the Wheelers or Mom let us get a video._

 

The main place to rent movies in Hawkins was a little store called Video Value. And ever since Will announced they were going to have an all night movie marathon, Dustin was looking forward to browsing the shelves.

 

Once they had arrived at Video Value, The Party separated, like they often did. Each boy was drawn to a different area of the store. But just as they had at The Book Nook and Chimera, they’d eventually come together in groups of two or three, rotating pairs and groups. There was no rhyme or reason to the constant Party rotation, but they always came back together in the end.

 

Dustin looked through the mysteries, hoping for film adaptations depicting Sherlock Holmes or some of Agatha Christie’s most famous books. Dustin found some for the future and added them to the movie list in his notebook, but the old-fashioned mysteries didn’t feel right for an all-nighter.

 

Dustin headed back to the front of the store, where he found Mike looking over the “Kids and Family” section. Mike was holding the box for _The Great Muppet Caper_ and reading the back.

 

“Why are you looking at that one?”

 

Mike shrugged. “Part of the deal with my folks.”

 

“Deal?”

 

“Yeah, in order to get the video rental card and get Dad to bring the TV and VCR down to the basement, I had to promise to get at least one video that Holly can watch too.”

 

Dustin nodded his head in understanding. “Got it. But don’t get _**that**_ one. Get _The Muppet Movie_ instead. The first one is better. Better songs.”

 

“ _ **We**_ don’t have to watch it, Dustin,” Mike commented mildly as he put _The Great Muppet Caper_ back on the shelf and picked up a copy of _The Muppet Movie_ , instead.

 

Dustin shrugged. “We can though. We can have Lucas go get Erica and we can all watch it together.”

 

“Why would we do that?” Mike wondered aloud as Will joined them.

 

“Think of all the Mom points we’ll get,” Will said.

 

Mike shot Will a suspicious look. “You just want to watch the Muppets.”

 

“You’re never too old for the Muppets.” Dustin stated this as fact, leaving no room for argument.

 

“Fine,” Mike agreed, shooting Dustin a look and shaking the copy of _The Muppet Movie_ at him. “But _**this**_ one counts as your choice then.”

 

Mike wandered away toward the back of the store near the check-out counter.

 

Dustin asked, “So did you find anything?”

 

Will shrugged. “I was looking for _Raiders of the Lost Ark_.”

 

Dustin shook his head. “Nope. Not out on video yet. Maybe in time for Christmas.”

 

“Hmm,” Will pondered, “and Mike already _**has**_ _Star Wars_.”

 

“Maybe _Tron_?”

 

“Or what about _The Dark Crystal_?”

 

Dustin nodded appreciatively. “Puppet theme night. I like the way you think, Will.”

 

Will smiled. “Jonathan said that _Blade Runner_ looked cool.”

 

“Nope. Rated R.”

 

“ _Creepshow_?”

 

Dustin shook his head again. “R.”

 

Dejected, they wandered over to Lucas, near the Action movie section.

 

This section was in the back corner, near the little secret area of the video store. It was a special, “adults only” alcove not much bigger than a walk-in closet. The alcove housed the X-rated titles and was separated from the rest of the store by a heavy curtain. There was a little sign next to the curtain which clearly stated: “You Must be 18 to Enter.”

 

As Dustin and Will approached Lucas, Dustin noticed he held one of the action videos absently in his hand, but kept craning his neck to try and see through the gap in the curtains.

 

Dustin snuck up behind Lucas and quoted, “’Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!’”

 

Lucas jumped and turned to give Dustin a dead-eyed stare. “If there’s just some old white guy back there,” he said, “I’m gonna be _**real**_ disappointed.”

 

Dustin chuckled. “Well if that’s the sort of thing you’re looking for, we could always get _Airplane_ again, somehow _**that’s**_ PG.”

 

Will gave them a dubious look. “You just want to watch that again to see boobs.”

 

Lucas smiled and nodded. “Maybe we can pause it at _**just**_ the right moment.”

 

“If you’re so crazy for boobs, I should just try to find the porno mags Jonathan and I found to show you. But let’s not waste our rental on something we’ve already seen.”

 

Dustin thought Lucas looked like a cartoon depiction of shock and surprise in that moment. Mouth open and eyes wide.

 

Lucas blurted, “Where did _**you**_ find dirty magazines?”

 

Will shrugged. “We found some when my Dad left.”

 

Dustin folded his arms and turned to address Lucas. “Well, well, well. It sounds like Will has been holding out on us.”

 

Lucas nodded. “Yeah. Maybe we need to go snooping in Jonathan’s room to see if we can find those sometime.”

 

Dustin was _**so**_ disappointed in Will in that moment. He shook his head and gave Will a reproachful look, “Every single thing I’ve ever read about or looked up about girls or sex. Every little thing that I’ve found out, I’ve shared with The Party. I mean, I’m like the _**oracle**_ of sex info, for the record.”

 

Mike walked up to hear the tail end of Dustin’s rant. He fixed Dustin with a look and said, “Eww. Gross. And also, for hopefully the last time, there _**is**_ no record, Dustin!”

 

Dustin smiled and tapped the side of his head. “Yes there is, my friend. The _**record**_ is in here.”

 

Mike turned away from Dustin with an exasperated look. “So did you guys find anything?”

 

Lucas shook the tape he was holding, and said eagerly, “Rambo!”

 

Dustin corrected Lucas immediately. “That‘s _**actually**_ called _First Blood_.” Then Dustin threw up his hands to mimic Lucas’s excited outburst, “Not ‘Rambo!’ But also, it’s rated R.”

 

Mike ignored Dustin and asked Lucas directly, “So that’s your pick?”

 

Lucas looked confused, but then nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

 

Mike said, “Okay, give it.”

 

Lucas handed it over.

 

Dustin’s mind shifted in overdrive then. He held up his hands at Mike, confused. “Wait, wait. How’re we gonna rent an R-rated movie?”

 

Mike grinned. “Just leave that to me. What time is it anyway?” Mike glanced at his watch. “We need to be out of here by six. So, we need to pick up the pace.”

 

Dustin was still confused, but endless possibilities started to open up in his mind. Every single one of those possibilities was R-rated.

 

“Wait, can I pick out an R-rated movie too?”

 

Mike smirked at him and held up the box, “But you _**already**_ picked _The Muppet Movie_ , didn’t you?”

 

“Screw that!” Dustin shouted, “I wanna get _Halloween_!”

 

Then Dustin excitedly got up into Mike’s face and pretend stabbed him over and over. Between each stab he kept asking, “Can I? Can I? Can I?”

 

Mike shoved Dustin away, laughing. “If you’ll get off me, go for it, man.”

 

Dustin scrambled past them toward the Horror section, with Lucas on his heels.

 

Mike and Will followed more slowly. Mike glanced at Will and said, “I guess _**I’ll**_ get _The Muppet Movie_ as my choice, so we can watch it with Holly and Erica.”

 

“Aww, Holly is so sweet. I bet she’ll want to sit on my lap again.”

 

Mike nodded. “Probably. But fair warning, biting is her new favorite thing.”

 

“Okay, maybe she should sit on _**your**_ lap, then.”

 

“Hey, you don’t mind making your choice be PG do you? We need another cover movie.”

 

“No problem,” agreed Will. “I know which one I want to see. “

 

Will lead them towards a shelf and pointed, “ _Star Trek II: Wrath of Khan_.”

 

“Good one.”

 

Mike grabbed it and added it to the growing pile as they headed to the counter.

 

As they approached the counter, Lucas and Dustin careened around the corner with a copy of _Halloween_ and joined them.

 

Mike grabbed the video and said, “Give me the money.”

 

Dustin pulled the Mega-Change-Purse from his backpack and pulled out a ten dollar bill.

 

“Okay, I’ll go check out. Wait here.”

 

The remaining three boys watched with interest as Mike approached the counter and fished out the little laminated card that showed the Wheelers had an account there.

 

The cashier started to ring up the first two tapes without comment, but stopped once he got to the R-rated titles.

 

“I can’t let you rent those,” the cashier said in an annoyed tone.

 

“My Mom said it was okay,” Mike said with a bright smile. “She _**sent**_ me. Where do you think I got the card and the cash?”

 

The cashier was still shaking his head, but seemed more bored than annoyed at this point.

 

“Just call her,” Mike suggested. “Our number’s right there on the card. She’ll tell you herself.”

 

They watched and waited as the cashier picked up the card, went over to the phone, and started dialing.

 

Lucas elbowed Will. “So what did _**you**_ end up picking? He didn’t bat an eye at that one.”

 

“ _Wrath of Khan_.”

 

Dustin nodded appreciatively.

 

Lucas tilted his head. “I dunno. Kirk and Khan are a bit too theatrical for my tastes.”

 

Dustin scoffed. “I’m pretty sure Mr. Rogers is too theatrical for _**your**_ tastes.” Dustin rolled his eyes at Lucas. “If you were at theater camp, I don’t even know what you’d _**do**_ there.”

 

Lucas shrugged. “Run the lighting, paint the scenery, be generally awesome?”

 

Dustin turned his attention back to the counter. The cashier was still on the phone. “No, it’s no problem, Mrs. Wheeler, no need to thank me,” the cashier was saying into the receiver. “We _**always**_ check this kind of thing.”

 

Lucas shook his head. “Man, it sounds like Mike is _**busted**_. I hope we still get to have the all-nighter.”

 

Dustin felt worried too, at least until he looked at Will. Will didn’t look worried at all – he was actually smiling.

 

Dustin nudged Lucas and then inclined his head at Will as if saying, “Check this guy out.”

 

They both stared at Will until he turned and blinked placidly up at them.

 

Dustin fixed Will with a stare. “What do you know, Byers?”

 

Will kept his expression serious. “I know everything, Dustin. I’m an _**oracle**_.”

 

Dustin narrowed his eyes. “You’re making fun of me.”

 

Will nodded slowly. “A little, yes.” He nodded back toward the check-out.

 

Dustin watched with amazement as the cashier returned to an impatient Mike, rang up the last two tapes, and took Mike’s money. Then he handed Mike a plastic bag full of forbidden videos and Mike walked back to where they stood waiting.

 

Mike glared at them as he passed. “Quit looking at me like that, you’ll make him suspicious.”

 

Dustin was able to hold in his questions until they were back outside. But once they were on the sidewalk he burst out, “Who did you have them call?”

 

“My house, our phone number is right on that card. He talked to ‘Mrs. Wheeler,’ who approved the rental,” Mike said mildly.

 

Lucas shook his head in disbelief. “And _**your**_ Mom is letting us get R-rated movies? No way. The Mom Spy Network did _**not**_ sign off on this. My Mom would _**never**_ agree to that.”

 

“Mine either.”

 

“Maybe let’s not mention the movies to our _**Moms**_ then,” suggested Mike with a satisfied smile.

 

Mike was relishing this, Dustin could tell.

 

Mike held up his watch to his face theatrically and said, “My _**Mom**_ is still at the Y with Holly at some swim and gym class. _**That’s**_ why we had to call before six.”

 

“So who answered the phone?”

 

Mike put on his announcer voice as they walked and boomed, “Tonight the part of ‘Mrs. Wheeler’ was played by Nancy Wheeler.”

 

Then he gave Dustin a wink and said in his normal voice, “Not everyone has to go to Theater Camp to be a good actor.”

 

Lucas looked amazed. “How did you get her to agree to this?”

 

Mike chuckled knowingly. “Let’s just say it’s my payment for _**never**_ revealing some things I know about her activities from the 4th of July.”

 

Dustin was intrigued. “What did she do?”

 

Mike gave him an annoyed look. “I _**just**_ said I could never reveal that.”

 

Dustin shook his head in wonder. “Two capers in one day?”

 

Mike nodded and laughed. “Dusty and Wheels strike again.”

 

\---

 

Lucas was a little surprised when Mike revealed they were going to Lori’s Diner for dinner.

 

Lori’s Diner was the family style restaurant in downtown Hawkins. It was a typical diner in that it wasn’t that big. The layout was also pretty standard for a building that was longer than it was deep. Booths lined three of the outside walls, each framed by a window. On one side of the interior were a bunch of little square tables which could be pushed together for larger groups. On the other interior side was a long counter, which ended in the cash register. The counter had stools where singletons or the anti-social could sit.

 

The wait staff had uniforms like on the TV show _Alice_ , but they weren’t pink. They were white and dark green. Meant to match the green lining of the leatherette booths and the vinyl on the stools along the counter.

 

Lucas wondered if it had been patterned after Mel’s Diner, but Mom assured him the diner and its décor existed long before that show.

 

Lori’s Diner did have the little spinny rack between the kitchen and the counter. They didn’t have a bell or yell “pick-up,” but there was a light-up board of numbers from 1 to 20 which the cooking staff lit whenever a pick up was ready.

 

It was Dustin who had deduced at some point they weren’t actually using all the numbers or assigning numbers to tables or customer tickets. They were only lighting up the same numbers over and over again. So even if the numbers were originally meant to be assigned to the tables and booths, they were currently assigned to each server instead. The numbers lit up when a specific server needed to come to the counter.

 

Lucas loved Lori’s Diner, and if he had been forced to choose a favorite place in downtown Hawkins, this was it.

 

_It’s a little surprising that Mike knew that, though_.

 

It wasn’t that The Party had never been to the diner together. They had. They’d been there enough for Dustin to figure out how they were using the light up board. They came in periodically to share a plate of fries. Or to get a shake or float and engage in a furious battle of straw wrappers. Or to spin around on the stools so fast they got dizzy and fell off.

 

_We got in trouble that day_ , Lucas remembered.

 

But it wasn’t the times with The Party at Lori’s Diner that cemented it as Lucas’s favorite. It was all the times he came here with his family. After Church on Sundays. On their way back into town from visiting Grandma. And special occasions like when The Party had placed in the Hawkins Regional Science Fair for their study of Volcanic Eruptions. Mom and Dad brought Lucas here to celebrate and let him get the biggest ice cream sundae on the menu.

 

_And they said they were proud of me._

 

There was another reason too. A reason that Lucas didn’t think The Party even knew about.

 

_Sylvia_.

 

Sylvia was a girl he knew from Sunday School at church. She didn’t go to school in Hawkins, she went to the private church school, and that in itself was somewhat exotic to Lucas. She was older and Lucas knew she could drive, so she had to be at least sixteen. That added to the appeal.

 

For most of this past year, Sylvia had been working part-time at Lori’s Diner. Lucas would often see her on weekends he came here with his family. She always recognized the Sinclairs from church and always snagged them for her section.

 

Sylvia had dark skin and dark hair and she was sassy. Not the obnoxious kind of sassy that Lucas associated with his sister, but a different kind somehow. The kind that would get you _**more**_ tips, not less, if you worked as a waitress.

 

_Flirty sassy_ , Lucas thought. _Not that a girl like Sylvia would ever flirt with someone like me_. _But still. A little flirty._

 

Sylvia flashed a bright and easy smile to all the customers, and they always smiled right back. Even folks who his parents struggled to get more than a curt nod from often warmed to Sylvia.

 

_It doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful._

 

So, even if he wouldn’t admit it to _**anyone**_ , Sylvia was currently another reason he loved Lori’s Diner.

 

As The Party approached the building, Lucas took a deep breath, savoring the delicious smell. That was the other great thing about the diner, it always smelled good. In the morning you could smell sizzling bacon. And you could often catch a whiff of freshly baked pies. Or, like now, all the boys could smell frying hamburgers even before they reached the door.

 

Mike held the door to the vestibule open for the rest of the party. As they passed through the little area for coats and hats on one side, and two cigarette machines on the other, Lucas was torn. He wasn’t sure if he should hope Sylvia was working or not. On the one hand, it was always nice to see her, and he knew she would go out of her way to talk to him. On the other hand, he didn’t need to give the guys any ammo to tease him with later.

 

Lucas didn’t have time to decide what he hoped for because they were already through the door, and there Sylvia was, walking briskly past them with a tray piled high with plates of food.

 

Sylvia nodded to them. “Hey boys, there’s a booth open down that way. Just take a seat, and I’ll be right with you.”

 

Lucas felt his cheeks flush with heat, despite the crisp, cool air which was such a relief from the outside.

 

Dustin suggested, “Or I think there’s enough open counter spots, instead.”

 

Lucas saw the smile drop from Mike’s face. Lucas thought he understood Mike’s reaction.

 

_He thinks of this as our big “grown-up” adventure or something. It’s hard to seem grown up sitting on stools at the counter where our feet can’t even touch the ground. And the rest of us will just spin around and goof off._

 

Lucas didn’t disagree with Mike in this case, and he had another motive to try to stay with the “grown-up” plan. This was the first time he could remember The Party going out to eat together, with no adult chaperone. Lucas was so used to the designated adult ordering for them, that it seemed cool to be in charge of everything themselves. From ordering to paying, they had full control.

 

Remembering what Keith had shouted at them, Lucas thought, _And hopefully if we avoid the counter, we won’t look like a bunch of stupid grade schoolers in front of Sylvia._

 

So Lucas spoke up before Dustin could start heading toward the counter. “Let’s get a booth, you guys. I think that would be better.”

 

Mike quickly added, “I agree with Lucas.”

 

_And on any normal day, Mike saying_ _ **that**_ _sentence would be the most surprising thing anybody said all day,_ thought Lucas. _But it’s just an also ran on the day Byers made a blow job joke._

 

Dustin didn’t bother to fight for the counter, he just followed them to the booth. They got settled in, Dustin and Will on one side, and Mike and Lucas on the other.

 

“Remember,” Mike warned, “Mom said it was too hot to cook for all of us, so we need to eat dinner here. I mean, I have some snacks squirrelled away for the all-nighter, but she’s not going to cook us anything.”

 

The menus were folded, laminated sheets tucked into a holder behind the napkin dispenser. Dustin grabbed them and passed them around. The page was crammed with text and included the tiniest printing known to man in order to fit the big menu onto a two-sided sheet.

 

Dustin was full of suggestions immediately. “We should get some onion rings to share. And some cheese fries.”

 

“If we get a meal it will come with sides,” Will said, pointing to the menu.

 

“And I haven’t been paying attention to the money situation,” Mike said. “We need to make sure we can afford it. I don’t want to be stuck here doing dishes.”

 

Dustin scoffed. “I think they only do that in the movies. I’m _**pretty**_ sure they’d just call our parents. Besides, I’m paying attention. I’ll make sure we have enough for what we order.”

 

Lucas was paying more attention to the menu than The Party, and he studied the tiny prices next to the menu items. This was the first time he’d ever noticed the actual price of each of his favorite items. Everything seemed so expensive. Thinking of the “money situation” as Mike called it, triggered something in the back of Lucas’s mind. Something he should bring up or remind the others of. Something to do with tipping.

 

Lucas was about to open his mouth to bring this up, when he felt eyes on him. He looked up to see the other three boys staring at him. Only they weren’t. After a second he felt other eyes on him and knew his friends were looking beside him. He turned slowly, and standing there, right next to him, beaming down at them, was Sylvia.

 

All thoughts of their finances flew out of Lucas’s mind. Sylvia turned her smile on him and said, “Hey Lucas, long time, no see.”

 

Lucas blushed furiously and said, “I know, right?”

 

_I sound like an idiot. And now, I’m just staring at her smile. Her lips. Quit staring at her lips, idiot!_

 

He tried not to stammer as he explained, “We’ve been on a family trip. We just got back this week.”

 

Will raised his eyebrows and asked mildly, “How do you two know each other?”

 

Sylvia replied quickly. “We go to the same church. I feel like I’ve known the Sinclairs forever.” She looked over the group of boys and asked, “What have you boys been up to today?”

 

Lucas answered before Dustin had a chance to open his big mouth. “Just making the rounds around town,” he said casually. “Y’know, one last time before school starts.”

 

Lucas kept it vague in an effort to sound cooler and more mature. However, Dustin still found a way to ruin things. “Yeah,” Dustin piped up excitedly, “We went to the library, and The Book Nook, and 7-Eleven . . . “

 

“And Melvald’s and the hobby store,” continued Will.

 

“And the video store,” concluded Mike.

 

Lucas carefully watched Sylvia’s face for any sign of judgment or amusement and didn’t find any. She just kept up her smile and said, “Sounds like you all had a busy day. Hopefully that means you’ve worked up an appetite.”

 

The Party responded in the affirmative.

 

“Good. Our special today is fresh fried perch with fries and cole slaw.”

 

Dustin made a face and announced to no one in particular, “Grilled cheese to me.”

 

Sylvia looked confused at first, but then leaned over Dustin to point at the menu. “We do have a grilled cheese sandwich, under ‘sandwiches.’”

 

“Don’t listen to him,” Lucas warned, but it was too late.

 

“No,” Dustin explained patiently. “I don’t _**want**_ grilled cheese. I was just saying that fish fry is _**like**_ grilled cheese to me.”

 

“It’s just something he says,” Lucas explained, lamely. He tried to kick Dustin under the table. All he got for his effort was a sore toe when he hit the pole thingy instead. _Great_.

 

“For stuff that is just ‘meh’, y’know?” Dustin continued endlessly. “Something run of the mill that you don’t particularly like, but you don’t hate either.”

 

Sylvia was nodding as if she understood, but her facial expression told a different story.

 

Dustin kept cheerfully explaining his reaction to the daily special. “Y’know, like American history class? Grilled cheese to me. _The Brady Bunch_? Grilled cheese to me.”

 

The amused look Lucas couldn’t find before was now all over Sylvia’s face, but he thought it was a kind-hearted one. She asked, “So does this apply to people too?”

 

Will and Mike both nodded along with Dustin’s vigorous head bobbing. “For sure. Our fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Stavros? Big time grilled cheese to me. Too annoying to be liked, but too uninteresting to be hated.”

 

Sylvia nodded. “I get you. So no perch for you, then. Or grilled cheese for that matter. Do you know what you _**do**_ want?”

 

They proceeded with their extensive order. Dustin jumped in immediately with his plates of fried food “to share” and then each of the boys ordered some version of a burger.

 

Everything was normal until Sylvia finally turned to take Lucas’s order. Instead of more fries, like Mike and Will ordered, or mashed potatoes, like Dustin requested, Lucas opted for the vegetable medley. That was definitely the grown up choice.

 

Sylvia gave Lucas an appraising look. “Healthy choice.”

 

Lucas shrugged and flashed her a winning smile. “Well my body is my temple. Isn’t that what Pastor always says?”

 

“He does say that.” She nodded at Lucas and gave him a little wink. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

 

Lucas basked in the memory of Sylvia’s smile and wink as he watched her go back behind the counter. When he turned back to his friends, he found them all staring at him. Mike mostly looked confused. But Dustin wore a skeptical scowl and said, “Who are you trying to impress?”

 

Will had a kinder expression on his face. “Well I think it’s obvious _**who**_ he’s trying to impress.” Then Will turned to Lucas. “So you guys have known each other awhile huh?”

 

Lucas nodded, but Dustin wouldn’t let it go. “Vegetable medley? Are you high? Any vegetable medley they don’t sell they just use as pig slop, you know?”

 

Lucas was defensive. “Vegetables are good for you, Dustin. Look it up in one of your books sometime.”

 

“Hey!” Mike said in the same tone he used if someone said something bad about Nancy. “Onions and potatoes are vegetables too!”

 

It took Lucas a moment to realize that Mike was making a joke. He laughed.

 

Once Lucas laughed, Mike broke into a smile too.

 

Dustin was not done needling Lucas however. “Well _**my**_ body is like a temple _**too**_. But more like the Parthenon, I guess,” He huffed. He scratched at his peeling nose for emphasis. “Crumbling and in ruins.”

 

\---

 

Dustin was normally good at cleaning his plate.

 

Any time he left food on his plate, his Mom would guilt him into eating it. Sometimes all it took was to withhold dessert unless he finished his meal. Other times Mom trotted out some guilt-inducing remark about how hard she “slaved” over the stove to make it. That worked pretty well too. But the worst case scenario was when Mom invoked the dreaded “starving children.” The “starving children” were always in Africa or China or somewhere else far enough away that Dustin couldn’t exactly mail his zucchini to them.

 

_I would do it though. Stupid zucchini._

 

As Dustin surveyed the plates in front of them still covered with food, he knew they had no chance of cleaning these plates. If only he had an address for those starving kids.

 

_We ordered_ _ **way**_ _too much food_ , Dustin thought miserably, as he surveyed the wreckage of their meal. No one had cleaned their plates, and the cheese fries and onion rings weren’t finished either. Perversely, the only thing that was fully gone was the stupid vegetable medley.

 

_And Lucas only ate all of that to mock me anyway._

 

Dustin knew what his Mom would say when faced with this result.

 

_This time Mom would be right_. _Better just own it._

 

“Sorry guys,” Dustin said shaking his head. Then he repeated his Mom’s favorite comment when he took too big a portion. “My eyes are bigger than my stomach.”

 

“Me too,” Will sighed. “I can’t eat another bite. It was all so good, though.”

 

Mike shrugged. “Maybe we can see if we can get some of it wrapped up to go?” Mike looked around the diner as if searching for someone. Then he asked, “Is our waitron a guy or a girl?”

 

Dustin shook his head. He didn’t know where Mike had picked up that word, but it wasn’t just a joke. Mike seriously didn’t pay any attention to waiters or waitresses. In Mike’s mind they were all just featureless server robots.

 

Lucas was clearly annoyed, and said pointedly, “Her name is Sylvia, Mike. How do you miss these things?”

 

_Well, I don’t_ _ **always**_ _catch their names either,_ thought Dustin, _but it was pretty hard to miss_ _ **this**_ _time, since Lucas wouldn’t stop giving her puppy-dog eyes_.

 

But Dustin knew he shouldn’t say that, so instead he said, “You have to forgive Little Lord Wheeler, Lucas. He doesn’t pay attention to the servants, y’know.”

 

Lucas nodded his head in mock understanding. “I see.” Then Lucas swiveled in the booth to face Mike directly and said slowly, “The one who waits on you at home, and washes your filthy underwear, you know her, right?” Then he used air quotes and said, “Her name is ‘Mom.’”

 

Dustin added, “You may want to learn that, maybe thank her sometime. Y’know, give _**her**_ and the mailman a little something at Christmas from the royal reserves.”

 

Mike scowled at them both. “Shut up, I’m not like that. I’m just saying there’s a lot of food here if we want to take some home.”

 

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “This is a lot.”

 

“You know what we need to hold all of this?” asked Dustin. He tried to sound normal, but the laughter in his tone gave him away. “We should see if Sylvia can get us a doggie bag . . . of holding.”

 

Mike laughed, but Will and Lucas remained silent. Dustin glared at them. “Hey c’mon, that was a _**good**_ one!”

 

Lucas just rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust.

 

“Okay,” Mike grabbed for the check, “ _ **Sylvia**_ left the bill, so if we don’t want to take any of this food home, I can go pay.”

 

He held out his hand to Dustin and Dustin dug around for the Mega-Change-Purse. He pulled out the money and handed it to Mike. “See we have just enough,” Dustin said. “Just like I said we would.”

 

Dustin heard a sharp intake of breath and looked over to see Lucas with a stricken look on his face. “What?”

 

Lucas put his hand up to his head. “I forgot to say something before. We need money for a tip, too. My Mom says you always have to leave a tip.”

 

“You do?”

 

Will frowned. “I think so. My Mom always says that waitresses get paid from tips.”

 

“Crap,” said Mike looking from the check to the bills Dustin had handed him. “There won’t be much change from this. Just thirty-nine cents.”

 

Lucas asked, “Is there any other money left?”

 

Dustin checked the remaining funds. There were still some coins rattling around the bottom of the Mega-Change-Purse, along with two singles. Dustin told them what was left.

 

“Let me see that,” Lucas said as he grabbed for it. “I have an idea, but it would be better if we still had all that change from before.”

 

“The cigarette machines make change,” Will said.

 

Dustin turned to look at Will, eyebrows raised.

 

Will shrugged. “There were two when we came in. You can get change from them. My Mom always complains because they run out of quarters all the time, and give out so many nickels and dimes.”

 

“Okay,” said Lucas, his expression hopeful. “Maybe this will still work.” He nodded toward the singles and said, “C’mon, Wheeler, let’s go get some change.” Then he turned to Will and Dustin. “You guys stay here so they don’t think we’re going to dine and dash or something.”

 

Dustin reached over and collected the check and cash from Mike. Lucas grabbed the Mega-Change-Purse and the remaining two singles. He and Mike headed out into the entryway.

 

When they were gone, Will nudged Dustin and said, “Hey, gimme my sketchbook out of your backpack, willya?”

 

Dustin did. “What are you thinking?”

 

Will shrugged as he flipped through the pages of his sketchbook.

 

“Do you know what Lucas is planning?”

 

Will shook his head. “No clue. I was just thinking that no matter what, maybe I could find a drawing to leave for her as part of the tip.”

 

“Good idea,” said Dustin and leaned over to look at the different sketches as Will flipped through them. He flipped through a lot of pages really fast, because the drawings were unfinished or so small they wouldn’t really work.

 

Will stopped when he got to a more polished sketch. It was pretty clearly a drawing of Endor. Dustin could tell partly from the trees, but what gave it away was the Ewok standing dead center. It was a back view of Wicket standing in tall grass, tall enough to leave only his shoulders and hood showing. Wicket held his tall spear like a walking stick beside him, and Will had drawn it being even taller than the small creature. Wicket was looking up into the sky, but the top of the page was completely unfinished. Only the bottom of the drawing was complete.

 

“It was supposed to be Wicket watching as the spaceships flew away,” Will explained softly, interrupting Dustin’s thoughts.

 

Dustin looked over at Will and quoted part of the Ewok song, “G’noop dock fling, huh?”

 

“Yeah. Wicket just watching them go. Not sure how it even works. Like it’s magic.”

 

“Maybe you can finish this one real quick,” suggested Dustin.

 

Will shook his head. “No way. I can’t do the spaceships that quick.”

 

“Not that. I was thinking you could just fill it in with stars really quick. Just fill it in with the night sky. Like Wicket is just stargazing. Then you could sort of connect the dots of the stars to make it say something. Like, ‘may the force be with you.’”

 

Will furrowed his brows and grabbed the pencil tucked into the spiral of the notebook. He paused to think for a second, then shook his head. “That’s way too many words. But I know something that _**could**_ work though. I think.”

 

Will pushed the plates out of the way and leaned over the sketchbook. He began printing a word in big stylized letters. Dustin could see what he was doing now. He was working backwards, filling in stars of various sizes along the lines in each of the letters.

 

_Sort of a reverse connect-the-dots_ , Dustin concluded.

 

Dustin watched Will sketch. Sometimes Will would run his finger along the pencil line to smudge it. And sometimes he would get an annoyed look on his face, and erase something completely and start again.

 

When Dustin thought the picture looked finished, Will printed a little “Will Byers” in the corner and put down his pencil. Then Will got that faraway look in his eyes again, what Dustin thought of as his gears-grinding expression.

 

_Just like this morning_.

 

He left Will alone for a moment, but then nudged Will’s shoulder with his own.

 

Will turned to Dustin. “What?”

 

“I don’t mean to be weird,” Dustin said, a little self-conscious. “But I watch you sometimes when you’re thinking. You do it a lot. And you never _**have**_ to tell me, or anyone, what you’re thinking. But someday. Maybe someday it’ll be important. Or you’ll be upset. Or you’ll be _**so**_ excited that you just _**have**_ to talk to someone.” Dustin chuckled to himself. “I feel like that a lot actually.”

 

“If you ever feel like that, Will, just make sure I’m around, okay?” Dustin continued. “When you’ve finally got something to say. Whatever it is. I want to be the first to hear it. Okay?”

 

Will looked at him for a long second, and then smiled warmly. “Okay, Dustin. I promise.”

 

\---

 

Lucas watched Mike try to smooth out the dollar bill on his leg.

 

They were out in the entryway, huddled between the two cigarette machines. The stupid change machine attached to the side of one of the machines was being finicky.

 

Mike was hunched over, still trying to get it to work, when the old guy came in. The old guy was dressed like a farmer, sporting overalls, a hat, and work boots. He glared at Mike, and then Lucas.

 

Lucas felt his face fill with heat, and his stomach clenched. Lucas knew that look. That look was _**not**_ just a general look of disapproval for underage kids hanging out by the cigarette machines.

 

This specific dirty look had more to do with Lucas being a black boy hanging out near the cigarette machines.

 

_I wonder if he’d even bat an eye if it was Mike and Will out here?_

 

Lucas didn’t think so. Lucas had seen Jonathan and Will buy cigarettes out of this very machine for their parents. No one had ever stopped them. No one had even said anything to them.

 

The old guy kept his look fixed on Lucas. Lucas wanted to stare back at him, or say something, but he didn’t. He just looked away. The old guy cleared his throat wetly in disapproval, just as Mike finally got the change machine to work. The dollar bill was sucked noisily into the machine. Then with a whir and a click, the change came raining down musically into the little change bin.

 

The old guy’s gaze followed the noise. He looked over at Mike. Lucas did too. Mike turned and caught the old guy’s glare. When the change rattled into the bin, Mike clapped defiantly and giggled maniacally. He told the guy in a sing-song voice: “They don’t let us have _**real**_ money at Pennhurst.”

 

Taken aback, the old guy harrumphed at them and entered the diner without a word.

 

Then Mike rolled his eyes and fed the other single into the machine.

 

_Mike knows too_ , Lucas realized. _That’s why he drew attention to himself._

 

“You didn’t have to do that, y’know?” Lucas said softly so no one inside the diner could hear. “He was glaring at _**me**_.”

 

Mike shrugged. “Who cares what that guy thinks? He’s an asshole. Plus he looked like he was like ninety. What’s he gonna do, gum us to death?”

 

“He’s not a vampire, Mike. And he was wearing steel toed boots.” Lucas shook his head at Mike’s comments. “Why are you so obsessed with biting lately, anyway?”

 

The change from the second single started ‘plinking’ into the change bin. Mike held his hand out for the cigarette case and started scooping the change into it. Then he shrugged half-heartedly, and said, “I guess it’s all from having a baby sister.”

 

Mike handed the Mega-Change-Purse back to Lucas. “Holly’s main form of communication with me lately is biting.” Mike shook his head slightly. “I can’t tell if it mean she _**likes**_ me or _**hates**_ me.”

 

Lucas considered this. “Does she draw blood?”

 

“Usually not.”

 

“Then I think that’s a _**good**_ sign,” Lucas said.

 

Mike gestured towards the case, heavy with coins. “So, are you going to let me in on the plan of what we’re going to do with all this change?”

 

Lucas nodded and thought of Sylvia. As he imagined her reaction to his little plan, he smiled his first real smile since the old guy left. “We can leave her a tip that spells out her name.”

 

Lucas turned to head back into the diner.

 

Mike stepped in front of Lucas and held up a finger to stop him. Then Mike asked with feigned interest, “Are you saying that the waitron has a name?” Mike imitated Lucas from their earlier conversation and used finger quotes. “Is it that ‘Mom’ you were talking about before?”

 

“We were only teasing, man.”

 

“I just don’t get why you’re trying so hard.” A slight teasing tone entered Mike’s voice, “Unless you like Sylvia, or something.”

 

When Lucas didn’t respond immediately, Mike barreled on with his version of reassurance. “I mean, it’s okay if you like her. She seems cool. Completely out of your league, but it’s way better than having a crush on my _**sister**_ like someone I could mention.”

 

Lucas tried to remain casual. “She _**is**_ cool. But I come here a lot with my family, and I see her at church too. I don’t want to be that kid that comes in and makes a big mess and doesn’t leave a tip. This way, even if it’s not a lot of money, it’ll at least be memorable.”

 

Mike nodded. “Makes sense.” He glanced at the booth where Will and Dustin were still sitting, hunched over a notebook. “Do you have _**any**_ idea how much a tip is supposed to be?”

 

Lucas shook his head glumly. “No clue.”

 

“So, is this your favorite place in Hawkins, then?”

 

“I thought you knew us all so well?”

 

“Well, Dustin and Will are easier to read. I was sure I got their favorite places right.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. For Will it’s always where his Mom is. And for Dustin it had to be The Book Nook or the Library.” Mike shrugged. “It had to be someplace where every door is open. Every country, every planet, every universe.”

 

“But for me?”

 

“With you I had to hedge my bets a little. Why do you think I dragged you around to so many places? So, did I get close?”

 

Lucas smiled as Mike held the door open for him.

 

“You got it exactly.” Lucas gestured vaguely as they re-entered the diner. “This is my favorite place downtown.”

 

“Because you come here with your family?”

 

“That,” Lucas agreed, but then shot Mike a wink and said under his breath, “and Sylvia. But what about you? Which one was your favorite place?”

 

Mike pondered this as they returned to the booth. “I guess my favorite is more about _**who**_ instead of _**where**_. When I’m with you three, _**that’s**_ my favorite. School. My basement. Downtown. It doesn’t matter. Being with The Party is my favorite.”

 

They slid into the booth to find Will had pulled a drawing out of his sketchbook. It was a drawing of the littlest Ewok beneath a nighttime sky with stars that spelled out the word “Thanks” in big letters.

 

Mike grabbed the bill and the money and went up to the counter to pay.

 

By the time he returned, Lucas had arranged the coins to spell most of “Sylvia”. Once Mike got back with the thirty-nine cents, he handed the coins to Lucas to finish up the “A” and said dryly, “I think you misspelled ‘waitron.’”

 

Lucas ignored him.

 

When Lucas was finished, they put Will’s drawing above the lines of coins, so the combined message read: “Thanks Sylvia.”

 

Then, trying and failing to keep from giggling, they grabbed their backpacks and ran out through the vestibule and into the street. As they headed back toward the park and their bikes, they stopped to look in the window. By unspoken agreement, they stayed there, silent, peering in, until Sylvia came over with a little tub to buss the table.

 

When she looked down at the drawing and the tip that spelled her name, a smile crept over her face and her free hand reached out to touch the paper lightly.

 

Lucas was bursting with pride at the sight of her smile, and he didn’t think it could get any better.

 

Then Sylvia looked up and out the window, directly at them. The rest of The Party scattered instantly, but Lucas stayed and met Sylvia’s eyes.

 

Then it got better.

 

Sylvia’s smile softened and she mouthed the words at Lucas: “Thank you.”

 

The goofy smile that played across Lucas’s face was automatic, and he didn’t even care. He nodded at her and offered her a little wave, before running to catch up with his friends.

 

\---

 

Dustin had no idea why they were taking the long way.

 

They had retrieved their bikes from the park and were making their way back to Lucas and Mike’s neighborhood. But Mike told them to follow him, and they weren’t going back the way they came.

 

Dustin might have objected, but Hawkins at dusk was nice. There was no traffic to speak of once they got out of the downtown area. And as the sun got lower and lower in the sky, the oppressive heat disappeared and there was even a gentle breeze.

 

The four of them pedaled lazily, not in any particular hurry.

 

_After all, we have all night_.

 

Dustin glanced over at Mike’s distinctive profile and was struck by a memory from _The Muppet Movie_.

 

He put on some speed to pull even with Mike. Once he got Mike’s attention, Dustin wiggled his eyebrows at Mike and quoted, “A frog and a bear, seeing America.”

 

Mike turned his eyes back to the road and said, “Shut up, Dustin.”

 

But Dustin noticed he said it mildly, and with a slight smile on his face.

 

Lucas pulled up on the other side of Mike, and Will pedaled between Dustin and Mike.

 

“What did you guys say?” Lucas asked.

 

Dustin laughed and broke into song,

 

“Movin’ right along

Footloose and fancy free

Getting there is half the fun

Come share it with me.”

 

Lucas shook his head, and Will giggled. Dustin grinned at Will, “C’mon Will, jump in here. We need to practice if we’re going to go out for Chorus.”

 

Dustin started singing again but Will didn’t join in at first.

 

“Movin’ right along

Footloose and fancy free…”

 

Then Dustin directed the next line at Will, “You’re ready for the big time . . .” and then trailed off.

 

_Don’t leave me hanging Will._

 

Will didn’t. He finished the verse: “Is it ready for me?”

 

“Don’t tell me you two are going to turn _The Muppet Movie_ into a sing-along?” asked Mike.

 

“You never know,” smiled Will.

 

“Just be prepared for Erica to join in,” warned Lucas.

 

“Who can blame her?” asked Will. “Who can resist _The Rainbow Connection_?”

 

“Ugh,” said Dustin. “Of course you’d like that one best. You ignore all the funny ones.”

 

“What does that mean?” Will demanded.

 

“Sappy,” observed Lucas.

 

“Yes!” snapped Dustin. “The songs you like are always sappy, Will. Like every song you like is part of a Long Distance Dedication to a lost puppy or something.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“You do like the sappy part best, Will,” Mike said quietly. “But there’s that other part at the end, that’s really good.” Mike quoted it rhythmically as he pedaled along, “Life's like a movie, write your own ending, keep believing, keep pretending . . . .” Mike trailed off and then said, under his breath, “That’s _**my**_ favorite part.”

 

_Now Mike’s being sappy too_ , thought Dustin. _It’s catching._

 

So Dustin put on his best Casey Kasem impression and said, “Tonight we have a Long Distance Dedication from Will in Indiana. And Will wants to dedicate every sappy song _**ever**_ to the lovers . . . the dreamers . . . and _**you**_.”

 

Lucas laughed, and even Will chuckled at that.

 

That was all the encouragement Dustin needed. “And Will from Indiana asks in his letter, ‘why _**are**_ there so many songs about rainbows?’ And here at American Top 40, we have the answer. Dear Will in Indiana, there _**aren’t**_ so many songs about rainbows. We reviewed the data, and _**most**_ songs are _**not**_ about rainbows.”

 

Lucas broke in then. “Strangely enough, it turns out that a lot of songs are about your mom . . .”

 

“My butt . . . “ added Mike.

 

“And mucus?” Will asked, playing along.

 

“Exactly,” Dustin finished. “That is what _**most**_ songs are about. Your Mom, my butt and mucus. For the record.”

 

\---

 

Lucas figured out where they were going once the incline grew steeper.

 

On the other side of their neighborhood there was a huge hill. Most of it was just grass and fields, but a road ran through it, and if you biked down the hill into their neighborhood it felt like you were flying.

 

When they were younger, they weren’t supposed to bike down that hill.

 

_And maybe it was for good reason_ , Lucas thought. _That_ _ **is**_ _where Will hurt his finger that time._

 

But now they rode wherever they wanted to. That hill was the closest thing they had to the thrills of a roller coaster, or riding in a speeding car.

 

_So Wheeler wants to end the day with a thrill-ride down the hill._

 

It made sense to Lucas.

 

Lucas had tuned out the conversation around the time Mike and Dustin began listing all the TV voices that guy from the radio did.

 

_I mean, we’re going into Junior High now,_ Lucas thought. _We’ve outgrown_ _ **Scooby-Doo**_ _and_ _ **Super-Friends**_ _, right? At least_ _ **some**_ _of us have._

 

Then Lucas realized they had changed topics and were talking about some older teens they saw in the park when they’d picked up their bikes.

 

Dustin marveled, “Did you see that one guy in the park had an earring?”

 

“It looked kind of cool,” Will commented.

 

“Nancy said one of the guys at the high school got his ear pierced,” Mike told them. “She said at the end of last year, he wore an earring that matched the pair she was wearing. She didn’t know what to think. But I don’t think she’s worn that pair since.”

 

Dustin looked intrigued. “Would you guys ever get one?”

 

Will shrugged. “I dunno. My Mom would flip.”

 

“I don’t think _**I**_ could ever get one,” replied Mike. “I’d be afraid the bullies would yank it right out of my ear.”

 

Lucas chuckled to himself. His Grandma had gone on a recent rant about boys with earrings and girls with tattoos. It had ended with a pointed, “What is the world coming to?”

 

Lucas said, “Don’t come around my house with an earring. You wouldn’t need to worry about bullies, my _**Grandma**_ will rip it right out of your ear. Lobe and all.”

 

Dustin looked shocked. “Why?”

 

“She has all these rules,” Lucas responded. “One of them is, guys can’t get earrings. Earrings are only for girls.”

 

“That’s not fair,” Will protested.

 

Lucas chuckled. “No, in her mind it _**is**_ fair. See, guys can get tattoos.”

 

Will asked, “But not girls?”

 

Lucas nodded. “Exactly. She was very clear. Girls can have earrings and guys can have tattoos.

 

Dustin rolled his eyes. “I guess pirates really piss her off then, huh? Does she have a position on hook hands? Talking parrots? Peg legs?”

 

Lucas laughed. “I’m not agreeing with her, I’m just reporting what she said.”

 

“Will’s right,” Mike said quietly. “That’s stupid. I mean, ask your Grandma this, what will she do when I get little tattoos on my earlobes that _**look**_ like earrings?”

 

Dustin laughed and almost careened into Will, and shouted, “Loophole!”

 

Lucas looked over at Mike’s triumphant grin. “I think if you did that, Grandma would slap that smirk right off your face.”

 

“Ouch!” laughed Will.

 

Lucas continued, “But only because you boxed her in. See, Wheeler, I _**told**_ you you’d be good at debate.”

 

Mike’s mean smirk turned into more of a genuine smile and he looked back at Lucas. “Okay, okay. I’ll check out speech and debate with you. You win. Happy now?”

 

Lucas smiled and started to pedal more furiously, leaving the others in the dust.

 

“Yep,” he called back. “I’m always happy when I win.”

 

\---

 

Will looked down the big hill and directly into the sunset.

 

They had stopped at the summit and were marveling at the view. It was getting darker by the minute, and the line of telephone poles on one side of the road were silhouettes framed against the setting sun.

 

Will smiled to himself, listening to the other three squabble. He had expected something like this. Mike had _**casually**_ suggested they shout something as they flew down the hill. His proposal was, “Best year ever!”

 

Lucas scowled at Mike. “You want us to do what now?”

 

Mike had the decency to look vaguely embarrassed. “Like, a call to action. Like ‘Avengers Assemble!’ Like, a promise that our first year of Junior High will be the best year ever.”

 

Dustin tilted his head to one side and frowned. “Well, I don’t really _**want**_ it to be _**my**_ best year ever. What about that year when I’m thirty-something, holding my nobel prize, flying around in my spaceship, surrounded by the ladies?”

 

Mike rolled his eyes.

 

Will had no clue what part of Dustin’s prediction triggered the eye-roll. Was it the reference to the Nobel Prize, the presumption there would be working spaceships, or the phrase “the ladies?”

 

_Maybe all three_ , Will thought.

 

Mike challenged Dustin. “Well what do _**you**_ want us to say then? ‘Best Year to Date?’”

 

Dustin nodded thoughtfully. “That _**is**_ closer to what I’m hoping for.”

 

Mike sighed dramatically. “But it sounds so stupid.”

 

Will interrupted them. “Agreed. ‘Best Year to Date’ doesn’t really roll off the tongue. It’s a little like saying ‘Avengers get together when you have a moment’ or something.”

 

\---

 

Mike regretted _**everything**_.

 

_The ‘Best Year Ever’ idea. This whole “grown up” adventure. Making friends. Leaving the house. Being born._ _I regret_ _**all** _ _of it._

 

Dustin and Lucas were still debating the semantics of Mike’s proposed call to unity.

 

Dustin had one hand on his chin, thinking. “How about best year yet?”

 

Lucas snapped his fingers and pointed to Dustin. “Yes, _**that’s**_ more like it. Like better than any year so far, but not horning in on the years to come when we’ll get to enjoy things like driving and sex.”

 

Mike covered his ears and almost gagged. He shouted at Lucas, “Eww! Please stop!”

 

Mike reached for his backpack. He carefully peeled the Mr. Yuk sticker off and stuck it onto Lucas’s tank top.

 

Then Mike announced, “ _ **You**_ get this now. _**You’re**_ Mr. Yuk.”

 

Lucas only laughed. “Mike, why are so grossed out by driving?”

 

Mike’s face flushed, and he felt defeated. He shook his head slowly and glared at Lucas, Will, and Dustin in turn. “You guys couldn’t just shout it out, all dramatic and cool right?”

 

Dustin shook his head amiably. “No way. I feel like you’ve been angling for this all day.”

 

Lucas nodded in agreement. “You wanted it too much, man.” Lucas gestured down the hill. “I mean, you have us _**literally**_ riding off into the sunset. There _**is**_ such a thing as overplanning, y’know. This is _**just**_ like our family trip. My dad ‘itinerary-ed’ us within an inch of our lives.”

 

Dustin shook his head, curls bouncing. “Not a word, Lucas.”

 

“Don’t care, my friend.”

 

Dustin relented slightly. “But despite Lucas’s made up words, it has no meaning when you force it.”

 

Mike sighed again. “Fine. This will be our ‘something or other which we can’t really agree on first year of junior high’ ever.”

 

\---

 

Dustin was done fucking with Mike.

 

_Me and Lucas made our point. Now we can meet him halfway._

 

So Dustin grinned at his friends and pushed himself forward. He inched forward, little by little, until gravity took hold and he started rolling downhill. He lifted his legs as the speed picked up, and laughed nervously as the pedals spun at a frenzied speed.

 

When he was about halfway down the hill he shouted: “Best year to date!”

 

\---

 

Lucas wanted to be the first to go, but Dustin beat him to it.

 

He waited until Dustin shouted back to them, and then smirked and followed. Lucas picked up speed quickly on the steep hill. Lucas was bold enough to take his hands off the handlebars, but only for a second. It only took that split second to transform from the exhilarating side of losing control to the terrifying side of losing control. He grabbed the handlebars just as the wind pulled Mr. Yuk off his shirt and sent the sticker floating off to the side of the road.

 

Excited laughter bubbled up in his throat as he shouted, “Best year until driving or sex! “

 

\---

 

Will watched Mike’s face during Lucas and Dustin’s descent. Mike’s expression darkened each time they shouted, half in tribute, half in mockery.

 

Will pushed his bike closer to Mike’s and said softly, “Don’t put on your bitch-face, okay?”

 

Mike glanced over at Will. But it wasn’t an angry or challenging look. So Will expected a question rather than an outburst.

 

“So, I should paste a pod person smile on my face, huh?” Mike asked. “Like you?”

 

Will’s smile grew wider and he asked, “You tell me. Does this look like a pod person smile, or a real smile?”

 

Mike caved then, and smiled back. “It looks real.”

 

“It is.”

 

Will straightened his bike and pushed it forward, a clear signal he was about to push off down the hill.

 

Before Will took his turn, he took a final look back at Mike. Mike was watching him. Then Mike exhaled and shot Will a look that said, “Go ahead, have your fun.”

 

_But I don’t need to have any more fun_ , Will thought. _Planning this day with you was fun. Today turned out_ _ **perfect**_ _. I don’t_ _ **need**_ _any extra fun at your expense._

 

So Will gave Mike a sweet smile, and said, “Best year ever, right?”

 

\---

 

Mike didn’t hesitate.

 

He smiled back at Will and repeated softly, “Yeah. Best year ever.”

 

Then Will gave a little nod and pushed off to fly down the hill after the others.

 

Mike was right behind him and pedaled furiously to catch up to Will. The wind whipped through his hair, and his backpack beat a constant rhythm against his back.

 

Mike watched his friend as they raced down the hill. Will always knew exactly how to make him feel better.

 

_ Maybe he really is a wizard. _

 

Mike grinned, watching Will’s hair fly in all directions. Will shook the hair out of his face, tucked his head down, hunched his shoulders, and shot like a bullet toward the spot where Dustin and Lucas rode in the distance.

 

And that was when the speed caught Mike. He was on the very edge of losing control. He felt it. He felt it _**all**_ in that moment.

 

The excitement, and the fear, _**and**_ the uncertainty.

 

Mike wasn’t sure if these feelings were about the breathless ride down the hill, or the fast approaching school year.

 

_Maybe both_.

 

It suddenly didn’t matter if Lucas was right and Mike _**had**_ itinerary-ed them riding off into the sunset.

 

It didn’t matter if they hadn’t shouted exactly what Mike wanted them to.

 

_We_ _**are** _ _riding off into the sunset. And they shouted_ _**something** _ _._

 

_We’re together._

 

_And that’s enough._

 

So Mike pumped his legs, and held on for dear life. He lifted his head, took a deep breath, and shouted at the top of his lungs. He couldn’t stop himself.

 

He didn’t want to.

 

“Best! Year! Ever!”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read through this monstrosity to the end. I fixed my notifications, so even people who find this long after the fact, please do hit me up with any questions or comments. I love reading them and will come back to respond.
> 
> Thanks to the creators, cast and crew of Stranger Things for making such an inspiring work that took me right back to my childhood. It is so weird to think that the interests I had as a child that got me bullied and ridiculed are pretty mainstream today. But I love that I lived to see a time when being a “nerd” is barely an insult anymore and when loving Tolkien and super-heroes is “normal.”
> 
> Thanks to all the friends I had through the years that shared my dorky interests. That sang show-tunes with me, and traded comics with me, and tried to learn to speak Klingon and Elvish, and spent WAY too much time cooped up in a basement rolling dice. I only wish I had ever been able to do what I had Mike do in Chapters 5 & 6, and pen some tribute, or love letter to all those guys and gals. I was never able to do that back then. It’s decades too late now, but I guess *this* is that tribute. It was fun weaving all of our nonsense into the lives of The Party. I love you guys!
> 
> Finally thanks to my partner for life, who encouraged me to write again and who edited all of this and helped me to share it on AO3. This is dedicated to her.

**Author's Note:**

> A note on this series: It's eight chapters long and many of the later chapters are very lengthy. I am putting out the first two chapters together, since they are also the shortest. The publishing plan is set to coincide with the upcoming release of Stranger Things Season 3. One new chapter each weekend (hopefully on Fridays, but let's say weekend to give me some wiggle room) for the next 6 weeks until the weekend of June 28-30th. This will let readers roll right from the last installment of the story into a re-watch of Seasons 1 & 2 prior to the binge day on July 4th. I am so excited to see what comes next for the characters!
> 
> A note on being canon compliant: This was written as my 2018 New Year's resolution to get back into fanfic at a time when the only "canon" to speak of were the two seasons of the show itself. I am aware that there has since been a non-fiction behind the scenes book, a novel and some Dark Horse comics put out, but I have not read any of them yet, so please bear that in mind and cut me some slack if you can. If enough errors are found that cannot be corrected, I will change the canon-compliant tag as needed.
> 
> If you have any questions or feedback, I would love to hear it. I love this show and these characters and welcome any chance to "talk" about them more. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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